Havana, Revisited
by mamazano
Summary: The first of a series of stories that take our immortal Captains to New Worlds and grand adventures. This series is set in Havana, 1957. Jack Sparrow/Will Turner Slash Fic.
1. Prologue Confessions

Written by: mamazano and danglingdingle

Title: Confessions

Rating: NC-17 (MA)

Characters: Jack/Will

Disclaimer: Disney owns them, we just like playing with them

Warnings: Deliciously decadent man on man love, with a healthy dose of blasphemy. A heady combination.

Summary: Jack has a confession to make...

*

****

Havana - 1757

****

"Hurry! This way!"

The sound of approaching boots made the two men scramble in retreat, their own boots splashing through the puddles dotting the rain-slick cobbled streets. The night was black, the pale sliver of a moon hidden behind a blanket of clouds, the air heavy with the scent of night blooming jasmine. They made their way through a maze of crooked streets lined with tall buildings, their balconies casting long shadows across pools of lamp light spilling from their windows.

"I think we lost them," Will said, breathing hard.

Back pressed to the wall, Jack peered cautiously around the corner of the building, before answering. "Not for long. Best we get back to the _Pearl _before they return."

"There!" A sudden shout echoed down the street.

"Time to go!" The men made a mad dash across the street, ducking into the alley and running towards the avenue beyond. They reached the end just as the guard turned the corner. Another shout and several more uniformed men rounded the opposite corner, forcing the fugitives to change direction once again, this time through an arched gate in a high stone wall, beyond which a flagstone path led to the broad steps of a whitewashed church.

"In here," Jack didn't wait to hear Will's protest, just grabbed his arm and pulled him through the heavy wooden door. The two men stood there, panting heavily, a puddle of water forming on the tiled floor from their rain drenched clothes.

"They will know we are here," Will pointed out, in a hushed voice.

Jack grinned, the faint light streaming through the stained glass blending with his own ivory and gold, painting him in a myriad of rainbow hues. "Not if they don't find us."

Skirting the edge of the cavernous church he headed towards the rear where a single lantern hung outside the tabernacle, its light illuminating a life-size crucifix hanging over the ornately carved altar.

Jack glanced up briefly. "Gruesome way t' kill someone, aye?"

Will nodded, avoiding the accusing eyes of the many statues in their marble niches.

The church was obviously one of importance, the white marble railing around the sanctuary and gilded arches overhead spoke of a wealthy patron or Holy Order. The altar itself was enormous, ornately carved out of wood and heavily gilded in gold, as were the massive chairs set to one side where the priests would preside over Mass. The cloying odor of beeswax and incense hung in the still air.

Jack skirted the sanctuary, heading for a side door, which led into a small room filled with robes and stoles. He quickly began to remove his water soaked clothing, stripping down to bare skin before pulling the nearest robe over his head. He tossed another to Will.

"Jack!" Will hissed. "Are you insane?"

"Probably. The guards will be looking for two pirates, won't they?" He bent down and bundled his wet clothes, together with his baldric and boots. "And that's what they _won't _be finding, savvy?"

Will sighed and quickly stripped down as well, muttering under his breath.

Jack stashed their bundled effects under a long cloth covering a side altar. "Thanks, mate," he said, flashing a grin at the statue in the niche above. "St Jude," read the inscription below. "Patron of Lost Causes."

"How apt," Will said dryly.

The sound of the massive front door opening cut further conversation. Pulling their cowls up over their head, Jack and Will ducked into the nearest pew and knelt, heads bowed to conceal their features. To the guard at the door, they appeared to be two monastic brothers, deep in prayer.

The soldiers hesitated at the door, obviously unwilling to disturb the sanctity of the church. After a perfunctory look around, they departed, leaving Jack and Will alone and undiscovered. Breathing a sigh of relief, Jack scooted out of the pew and turned to Will. "I think it's time we got the _hell_ out of here, aye?" he whispered, with a big grin on his face.

Before Will could point out to Jack that they would be doing just that, the side door from which they'd just come opened and a man dressed in an alb entered the church bearing a long pole, and proceeded to light the candles scattered around the altar. At the same time the church bell began to toll.

"Quick! In here!" Jack ducked into a small alcove, dragging Will behind him. The space was barely large enough for a grown man, let alone two.

"Now what?" Will hissed, jammed so tightly against Jack that their noses touched.

They could hear muffled movement in the church beyond, then the somber voices of men in chant. Vespers had begun.

"Looks as if we're going to be stuck here, for a bit," Jack said. "Best make the most of it, aye?"

Will sank onto the kneeler behind him with a groan. Why did he let Jack talk him into these things? The droning chant in the church was soon accompanied by Jack, cheerfully chatting as if they were on the bridge of the _Pearl_.

"…and by the 13th century, confession was compulsory, which meant the good padre would be required to hear all the sins of his flock. Which of course led the good shepherd to be wanting to share in some of those said sins."

Will was only half listening, his attention distracted by the presence of Jack's cock waggling around under his nose. Shifting his position on the kneeler, Will tried to ignore the bobbing bulge under the robe, with less and less success, and finally giving up to the growing urge, he pressed his cheek against it.

"… wasn't until the 14th century, when men lived alongside women in double monasteries, that grilles were inserted in special recesses in the walls to prevent the priest from coming into contact with the good sisters."

Fascinated more by the constant nudging on the side of his face by Jack's rapidly hardening member, than the story Jack was weaving, Will was having trouble restraining himself, gritting his teeth to resist the temptation right under his nose.

"…nonetheless, the seduction of penitents by their confessors, euphemistically known as _solicitatio ad turpia_ was becoming a perennial source of trouble to the Church, seeing as the perpetrator was able to be absolved of his sin immediately after committing said sin."

"So why not just _not_ go to confession?" Will whispered, hoping Jack might follow his example and do the same.

Jack stroked Will on his head and down his cheek, chuckling. "Because it was compulsory. And, when the poor penitent complained, he or she was told they still had to confess to the lustful priest, and that to pray to God for strength to resist his importunities."

Will said a silent prayer, then, no longer able to resist, slipped his hand under Jack's robe and grabbed the dancing cock.

Letting out a gasp, Jack leaned his head back, purring, as Will stroked him with his thumb, asking with a thick, low voice; "And what if the penitent could not resist?"

He heard Jack gulp as Will pulled his robe up and disappeared under the cloth.

"It took a virtue of uncommon robustness to resist the temptations arising from the confidences of the confessional," Jack rasped, gasping as Will took him deep into his mouth and began to hum.

Somewhere, outside the dark confines of the confessional, a bell began to toll. Neither man noticed, as each was intent on the other.

Without warning, a door slid open in the wall in front of Jack, revealing a grate and a lit alcove beyond in which a priest sat, ear pressed to the grate.

'What's he doing?" Will whispered, emerging from under the robe in alarm.

"Listening. Jesus Will, don't stop now."

"Christ, Jack, how can I with him there?"

"Benedícat vos omnípotens Deus, Pater, et Fílius et Spíritus sanctus. Amen."

"You started this!" Jack hissed, sucking in his breath with a groan as Will complied to his wishes.

"¿Has venido a confesar tus pecados?"

Jack groaned louder, not quite bursting to confess just yet.

"¿Cuándo fue tu última confesión?"

Jack could only moan a mumbled, "Sí padre," in response.

"Jack! What are you doing?," swept hot, divine breath _right there_.

"Confessing me sins," came the gasped answer between clenched teeth.

"Continuar."

Jack was having difficulty with that, as Will had resumed his expert administrations with a vengeance.

"_Madre de Dios_," Jack exclaimed, leaning heavily, arms on either side of Will's head, forehead pressed to the wall. "Oh, mygodmygodmygod, yes, yes, _Will_…"

There was a thick, scared-to-breath- silence from the other side of the wall, followed by a hurried prayer.

"Para su penitencia va a decir cuatro rosarios."

"What'd he say?" Jack whispered, out of breath.

"Something about four rosaries." Will's mumble made Jack want to see his face, the happy smile, and the closed eyes. Jack knew the feeling well…

"Dominus noster Jesus Christus te absolvat; et ego auctoritate ipsius te absolvo ab omni vinculo excommunicationis et interdicti in quantum possum et tu indiges."

The priest made the Sign of the Cross and added, "Deinde, ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."

The grate slid shut abruptly, leaving them in blessed darkness once again. After waiting several minutes, making sure that the church was once again deserted, and that Will could actually walk (although Jack's promises of what was waiting for him once they reached the _Pearl_ didn't much help in terms of assuaging Will's heated predicament), they made their way out of the confessional and swiftly retrieved their effects.

"You could have gotten us both caught," Will said as he pulled on his boots.

Jack adjusted his baldric and placed his hat on his head. "Me?" Jack grinned and winked, waking another wave of warmth in Will's belly, the taste of Jack still lingering on his lips enticingly. "Aye, but I didn't. And, not only that, unlike you, I've been absolved of me sins."

"What about your penance, Jack? The rosaries?" Will couldn't keep the leer out of his voice.

"Ah, you're right!" Jack glanced around and noticed a brightly painted statue of the Blessed Mother, an array of flickering candles beside it. With a few brisk paces Jack was reaching up, and plucking a silver and gold rosary from around the statue's neck. "Rosary. Right. Outta fetch a good price."

"Jack!"

****

Epilogue:

As sacristan, Br. Antonio was the first to enter the church at sunrise and the last to leave, making sure all candles were extinguished and doors locked after Compline. There had been a time when the church was always open, a welcoming sanctuary for the faithful. But that had been before the plague of pirates had invaded the city, making nightly raids from their stronghold in Regla, a short distance across the Havana harbor.

He now waited impatiently for Father Cordoba, who was hearing confession, to finish, so that he could lock up the sacristy. He wondered what was keeping the priest, not known for lengthy confessions. A shuffling on the steps announced the old man's return, his shoulders drooping and his grizzled head bowed in thought.

Brother Antonio could see Father Cordoba was troubled. He did not ask questions, though, as he helped the priest remove his alb and stole. The sanctity of the confessional was not to be violated, even to appease the younger man's interest. Br. Antonio was not worried. He would find out soon enough what was troubling the old man. Secrets traveled fast throughout the monastery.

He did not even peek to see what unfortunate penitent might be praying his or her penance in the darkened church. A rumbling stomach and the aroma of the evening meal being served in the Refectory overcame the young monk's curiosity. He left by the side door with Father Cordoba, who did not join him for supper but continued onward through the cloister and into the gardens beyond.

****

Father Cordoba lit his pipe and stood deep in thought, the fragrant tropical flowers mixing with the pungent aroma of black tobacco. The earlier rains had moved on, the star-filled sky lending a soft light to the surrounding gardens. An ornate fountain gurgled peacefully from the center of the plaza, somewhere in the distance a dog barked. The peaceful night contrasted with the old priest's trouble heart.

He had always seen himself as a humble servant of the Lord, not one to be tested. And yet, tonight he had been visited by the devil himself. The poor soul in the confession had been practically groaning in his travails, the devil himself must have had him by the balls, to illicit such torment. The moaning and gasps of agony had pierced the old priest's soul. The final pleading to the Virgin Mother for relief had broken his heart.

Praise be to God, the final throes of agony were followed by blissful release as the Prayer of Absolution had been said. How fortunate the wretched man had found salvation in his confessional. Father Cordoba's humble heart swelled with pride, before being squelched by the realization he was but a humble servant of the Lord, at whose feet all good works belonged.

Sighing, he tapped out his pipe and returned it to his pocket. He would have to add pride to his list of sins for his next confession. But still, a small part of him was pleased he was able to bring about such a wondrous release for a fellow man.

****


	2. Prologue Peccancies

A/N: Headers and Disclaimers in Chapter 1

****

Jack was, among his other precarious features, the master of deception. A glib tongue and mesmerizing hands weaving his tales could charm (or at least befuddle) even the most staunch worthy opponent.

But not Will.

Tenacious, but more importantly, intuitive, Will could see straight past the deception, following the tangled thread through the labyrinth of Jack's mind.

So, when Will asked he was doing, Jack knew there was not much point in lying.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Will raised a quizzical eyebrow. "That's impossible, Jack.

"True. One cannot technically do nothing, because even doing nothing is doing something, which then negates the nothing you were _not_ doing since you are no longer doing the nothing which is technically something…"

"Jack…" Will's voice had that warning note to it, one Jack was quite familiar with.

"It's a surprise." Jack sighed. "And if I were to tell you, it would no longer _be_ a surprise. Therefore, as far as you need to know, I am doing…nothing."

"Right." Will continued to stand there, arms folded, head cocked to one side, waiting.

Jack sighed again. "Will? Go away." He paused and added quickly, "Not away, away. But away. Over there. For a little while, until I finish…"

"What?" Will was smiling now, rocking on his heels, obviously enjoying Jack's growing discomfort.

"The _nothing_ I'm doing."

Jack's determined pose, purposely poised so as to block Will's view, made it clear that any further prying would result in consequences Will didn't particularly wish to inflict upon himself.

"Fine." There was nothing left to do but to yield.

Taking exactly one step back, Will resumed his stance with a ferrety smile. "I'll be just over here, in case you need me."

After an assortment of hugely exaggerated glares and theatrical sighs, respectively, Jack finally turned around from his nothingness, hiding absolutely nothing behind his back.

"Well?" Showing impressive amounts of self control, Will stood put.

"Well," Jack drawled, a cunning smirk developing along with Will's impatience.

Without another word, after a moment of indulging in the sight of Will, just because, Jack brought a hand in front of him, opening his fist.

Frowning, Will stepped closer, and recognized the item with the delightful mix of amusement and the distinct sense of desire.

Jack followed Will's reaction fondly, and when Will lifted his eyes to meet Jack's, the rare event of Jack's cheeks matching the blush on Will's was their reality.

"That's why you took it, didn't you?"

Taking the rosary bead and carefully weighing its nigh nonexistent weight on his palm, his gaze sought to Jack's nether regions, the memory of a peculiar sort of a confession pouring in unrestrainedly.

Biting his lower lip, Jack nodded slowly, shifting his eyes away from Will's in a moment Will could swear Jack was… shy.

"I figure it would be something you'd want to remember, what with your," Jack reached his fingers to slide over the bits and pieces Will had collected to his necklace, easing them under the collar of his shirt and pressing his palm to Will's chest. "…thingie there."

Will certainly did.

His profound gratitude expressed itself in a passionate kiss that caught Jack's breath away.

Parting, grasping the bead tightly in his hand, Will hurriedly removed the adornment from around his neck, only to be halted in mid-movement.

The sobriety of the situation hit Will with full force when Jack lifted the necklace, placing a soft kiss to his lips.

"Here. Let me do the honours." Jack took an uncertain step back as if hesitating if he wanted to be so far from Will, and turned to put the string on the table.

Jack snatched something between his fingers, and faced Will again with an indulged grin, holding up the matching bead.

"Right after you do yours."

Sitting on the table, Jack's head resting on his lap, Will edged a piece of twine through the small hole in grave silence, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration, and started to work the bead securely into Jack's hair.

Fascinated by the travels of Will's tongue right above Jack's nose while he himself tried to stay still and resist the temptation, his mind wondered back to Havana, and the night of which they would now both carry keepsakes.

Being the victim of his own habits, Jack succumbed to the lure of Will, and stroked his hand across Will's knee. Closing his eyes at Will's approving hum, Jack pressed his face against Will's thigh, chuckling into the cloth; "It seems the rosary didn't turn out to be much of a penance after all."


	3. The Tropical City

Cuba's Tourist Commission boasted of Havana in 1957: Here is a new world, a gay world— whirling with excitement and beauty— a kaleidoscope of shifting colors and moods! Havana— a city of singing hearts and dancing feet, of smiles and spice and the rumba beat. Here is a fabulous blend of the old and the new— truly Latin America, where ancient Spanish culture meets the modern world. A magic city of vivid contrasts, Havana is big and gay— a place to have wonderful fun!

****

The slap of the paddle fans hanging from the ceiling of the crowded nightclub punctuated the smoky air, offering little relief in the sultry night. On the small stage in the corner, the band was in full swing, the floor packed with dancers sweating, swaying and swirling to the rumba beat.

Leaning back in his chair, Jack Sparrow concentrated on his companion, who gazed around the room with a wide-eyed innocence Jack hadn't seen since he'd first introduced Will Turner to Tortuga.

_Bloody fuckin' lifetime ago._

Seeing Will like that, perched on the edge of his chair, drinking in the proliferous scent of cigar smoke and rum, gave Jack a sudden sense as if it were two hundred years earlier, when Will tasted his first of a robust Tortugan night. Sweat glistened on Will's forehead, black silk clinging to his chest in the humid tropical night… Watching as a droplet of sweat trickled down the curve of Will's jaw, disappearing beneath the open collar of his shirt, Jack felt his goods tighten as his tongue lusted to follow the same path.

That is how Jack incongruously found himself in the position of being jealous of a drop of sweat. Again.

****


	4. Rum, Rumba

****

"She wants you to dance with her."

Will eyed the bargirl dubiously. "Jack, you know I don't dance."

"S'bout time you learned then, aye?" Jack grinned, waving a hand towards the crowded dance floor. "It's why they come here, for the rumba. And the rum." He took an appreciative drink and added, "Rum, rumba. Positively perfect combination, if you ask me."

Will sat back with a definitive snort. "Then _you_ dance with her."

The bargirl looked from one man to the other with a puzzled expression. She was accustomed to entertaining more willing patrons of the nightclub, on and off the dance floor.

"You no dance?" She asked, reaching for Will's hand. "It's no problem. Mercedes teach you." She tugged at Will with two hands, backing towards the dancers. "It's easy, like the cha cha cha. I show you."

Jack wore a broad grin as Will fought the losing battle between his aversion to dancing and his natural chivalry towards women. And what a woman she was. A full-figured girl, a flower of the islands in full bloom. A sultry siren on a hot Havana night.

A delightful plum any red-blooded man would enjoy plucking from the tree. Except Will wasn't any ordinary man. On sabbatical from the _Dutchman_, Will had been looking forward to spending some enjoyable free time with Jack, not being seduced by a B-girl in a Havana bar.

"Besides," Jack added with a laugh, as Will lost the tug-of-war with the determined girl. "I want to watch."

Will glared back. "You owe me, Jack."

Smiling, Jack stretched out his legs and pushed his white Panama hat back, wriggling his bottom more comfortably in the rattan chair. "And I'll make it up to you. Promise."

_Oh, I plan on rumba-ing the night away with you, dear William._

****


	5. Pulse of the City

****

"You no tell the truth! You _do_ know how to dance."

Mercedes laughed as she twirled around her partner. Tall, dark and handsome, with the chiseled features of a movie star, he was amazingly light on his feet.

"Not really." He smiled. "The footwork is much like another dance I once knew."

"The tango?"

"No. Sword fighting."

He turned, as the throbbing beat of the music faded, and quickly made his way through the crowded room to where his companion waited.

Mercedes shivered, and rubbed her bare arms. For all his youthful appearance, he had eyes as old as Methuselah.

****

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Jack grinned as Will, face flushed, slipped into the seat next to him.

Wiping his brow with a napkin, Will glared at Jack. "You owe me for that."

"Why?" Jack crossed his leg and lit up a brown Cuban cigarette. "You dance quite well. I especially liked that cha-cha move you did at the end." Blowing a smoke ring towards Will he added with a chuckle, "Won't be able to keep the girls away, not with those moves."

Will threw the bunched up napkin at Jack, knocking his hat off. Jack had insisted in dressing for the occasion and had picked out the white linen suit and straw hat just that morning.

"If we are going to blend in, we must look the part," was his explanation, though Will was quite convinced Jack just enjoyed the whole charade. It was as if Jack set up their excursions with the express idea of living each moment to the fullest.

Not that Will was complaining. Each visit ashore was eagerly anticipated, this one especially, as they had been to Havana together once before. That time though, their welcome had not been quite as warm. Positively unfriendly, in fact.

****

Mercedes strolled along the Malecón, the walkway where the city met the sea. The soul of Havana, the Malecón was the true pulse of the city, the place where people came together - to sit on its low walls, enjoy the sea breeze, to play music, kiss, fish, socialize, drink and smoke cigars. Mercedes closed her eyes and breathed deep the scent of the city, a heady mixture of sea, humanity, dust and tobacco, swirling around her like a seductive, sweet perfume.

She was surprised to see, when she opened her eyes, the two men from the tavern standing nearby, looking out over the moon-lit water of the bay. Engrossed in conversation, they did not notice her in the shadows. The older one was explaining something to his companion, with sweeping gestures, waving his bejeweled hands towards the bay and the dark shape of the Morro Castle at the entrance to the harbor.

The men moved on down the Malecón in the moonlight, heads bent towards each other with the familiar closeness that comes from old friends… or lovers. Mercedes smiled and turned away. There was something mysterious, even otherworldly about them. She would have liked to known them better.

****

"I have been told," Jack said, "that every night, the ghost ships of every nation that ever attacked the great El Morro line up in the dark to try again." He waved a vague hand towards the 16th-century castle protecting the harbor.

"They never succeed, of course. Even in the afterlife." His tone was so matter-of-fact, it was as if he'd witnessed the event the previous night.

Will raised a quizzical brow. "And you've seen this?".

"Sometimes, if I've had enough to drink." Jack laughed.

They resumed walking, drinking in the intoxicating sights and smells of a warm Havana night. Will had a moment of déjà vu as they navigated the shadowy, cobblestone streets and narrow lanes of old Havana. In another lifetime, another century in fact, they had been pursued down these same streets, taking sanctuary in…

"The _Catedral de la Habana_." Jack recited, as if from memory. "Constructed was started by the Jesuits in 1748, who unfortunately weren't around to see it finished in 1777 – since Spain's King expelled them from Cuba in 1767. Fortunately, we were not Jesuits." He paused, smiling, drumming his fingers lightly on his chest, while waiting for Will's reaction.

"Or Catholics," Will added.

****

"I have a confession to make." Jack said casually over his shoulder from where he stood on their room's small balcony, overlooking the rooftops and the sea beyond.

"Again?" Will came out to join him, handing Jack his drink. Rum, straight up, no ice. Will sipped his own, a newly acquired taste. Rum and Coca-Cola, with a dash of lime, appropriately called a Cuba Libre. "What is it you need forgiveness for this time?"

Jack turned and slid an arm around Will's waist, drawing him close for a lingering kiss. "I paid that girl to dance with you."

"Why?"

"I wanted to watch you dance."

"But you've seen me dance before."

Sighing, Jack raised a hand and let it drop. "I was also hoping you might teach me."

"Then I will teach you."

Music drifted up from the street below as Will slipped in front of Jack, moving soft and supple, swaying to the beat, his movements both seductive and hypnotic.

"If you want to learn, you have to watch. Watch me, Jack. Watch me," he whispered, his eyes half closed. His body pulsed to the music but his sleepy eyes remained steady on Jack. "Do you understand? Watch me."

****


	6. The Rumba Lesson

**Havana Revisited - Part 1 - Rumba Lesson**

****

Blame it on the Rhumba

If I find romance in your arms while we dance,  
Blame it on the rhumba, blame it on the rhumba  
I feel a thrill and my heart won't be still  
Blame it on the rhumba, blame it on the rhumba  
And while the music is playing,  
While the lights are low,  
I'm not to blame if I say, "I can't let you go."  
So why be discreet if our lips chance to meet,  
Blame it on the rhumba, blame it on the rhumba.

~ _Top of the Town_, 1937

****

The Rumba Lesson:

****

"Look at me, Jack." Will whispers, his movements supple and sensual. "Watch me."

Jack swallows hard, as he feels the heat radiating outward from the closeness of Will's body. Instinctively he reaches for him, only to have his hand playfully slapped away.

"No, Jack. You forget. The rumba is a dance without touching. And yet, a dance both promiscuous and obscene." Will moves to the pulsing beat from the music in the street, his hips swiveling, beckoning, teasing. Pelvic thrusting, then retreating, Will dances a slow circle around Jack, stopping half way to breath instructions into his willing pupil's ear.

"That's it, Jack. Step, step, hip back, knee straight." The words are hot on his neck, Will's hand fluttering at his side. "No, push back when you step, like so." Will reaches around and places his palm against Jack's hip, swiveling it back. A teasing touch of hardness is pressed against him before Will once again moves away.

Will is back in front, eyes locked on Jack's. "They say that the very air one breathes in Havana contains a deadly magic, inescapable and irresistible." His hips swing forward, back, forward back, forming a tantalizing figure-eight of magic all their own. Fingers splayed, Will runs his palms down the length of his body, moving closer, brushing the hardness of his cock against Jack's.

"There is something about the rumba so reminiscent of voodoo," Will muses, eyes half closed, circling once more behind Jack, who has forgotten his owns steps in the intoxicating movement before him. "It conjures up drums beating in a misty valley, of dances around the bonfire, which once known, once sensed…can never be forgotten."

"If you want to understand _el secreto del amor aqui, _the magic that is Havana, you must learn the rumba."

Jack can only agree.

****


	7. Paradise Found

**Havana Revisited - Part 2 - Paradise Found**

****

"I have a confession to make."

Jack glanced over at Will, where he lay sprawled on the rumpled sheets, staring up at the ceiling fan making lazy circles in the humid air. A sheen of sweat from their earlier exertions covered his chest and brow, a droplet finding its way once again down the line of his jaw.

Reaching over, Jack traced the path of the wayward drop, lingering fingers brushed Will's lips, only to be surprised with a quick nip. With a laughing growl, Jack twisted to where he was on top of Will, holding both of his arms down as he returned the favor, biting Will's lower lip gently before claiming them with a longer, more devouring kiss.

Will responded in turn and soon all conversation was forgotten, as the two made up for lost time apart.

"So what's this sudden confession you feel compelled to make?" Jack asked finally, curiosity getting the best of him.

"I lied about not knowing how to dance."

"Ooh, so that's how you did it!" Jack propped himself up on one elbow with an impish grin. "And here I was thinkin' you were just a fast learner."

Will smiled at Jack, drinking in his golden hues and spicy scent. Even with his hair cropped short and trimmed beard, Jack still exuded the exotic, blending in with the island and her people as if he were a native himself. In this setting, with the sun slanting in through the shutters, the whispering of the breeze through the palms, it was as if they'd never left.

"When I heard where our rendezvous was to be this time, I did some research."

Jack chuckled. "Didn't want to get caught with your pants down, like your last visit, eh?"

"If I remember correctly, you were the one making confessions that time."

"And we were both minus our breeches. I have fond memories of that night, luv. Absolution at its most divine."

Will sighed. "We were lucky not to be hung."

"Trifles." Jack waved away the idea. "So tell me, Will. How does one go about researching on the _Flying Dutchman_?"

"Picked up a Cuban fisherman, who'd got caught in a squall with a leaky boat. Decided he wasn't keen on passing over any time soon, so he joined the crew." Will rose and went over to the window and looked out at the harbor shimmering beyond the rooftops. "When I heard you wanted to meet in Havana, I asked him to tell me about it."

"And what did he tell you?" Jack joined Will, coming up behind him and resting his chin on Will's shoulder.

Will snuggled contently into Jack's arms, leaning back against his chest. "He told me, and I quote, _the city exudes an essence, fragrant and fateful, of delight in love_." Will laughed. "He also warned me."

"About?"

"About the rumba."

"And what did he warn you of, mi pichón?" Jack nosed a curl aside and was purring softly in Will's ear.

Will closed his eyes, savoring deeply the sensation of Jack's arms around him, the balmy breeze wafting through the window bringing with it the sounds and smells of Havana.

"That once you lose yourself to the rumba, when you feel completely one with what you are doing, you control your destiny, at least for that moment. And that…" Will paused, emotion suddenly gripping him, his hands running gently over Jack's possessive arms.

"And… what?" Jack whispered encouragingly, tightening his hold.

Will swallowed, turning his head slightly, drawing in Jack's scent mixed with the throb and pulse of the city, and whispered as well. "That it will forever be associated with the most precious moments in your memory."

"Hmm." Jack sighed, smiling into Will's neck, eyes closed lightly to concentrate on feeling Will flushed against his skin. "Well, then…" Pressing a kiss next to Will's ear, Jack started humming quietly, rocking Will in his arms to the leisurely undertone of the rumba of his heart.

"Ven, dame tu amor. Que sin ti, no hay rumba en mi corazón." **

****

**Come, give me your love, without you there is no rumba in my heart


	8. Taste of Havana

_**Havana Revisited - Part 3 - Taste of Havana**_

_****_

_"When nothing else subsists from the past, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered, the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls bearing resiliently, on tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory."_

~Marcel Proust "The Remembrance of Things Past"

****

Will had always associated the taste of salt with Jack. The briny scent of the sea combined with the salty tang of sweat and arousal were ambrosia to Will, nectar of the gods.

Now, after Havana, Will had added new flavors:

The spicy sweetness of a freshly peeled orange, shared in the warmth of the morning sun streaming through the slatted shutters.

The refreshing minty mojito, marvelously mingled with white rum and mambo music.

Will's favorite, though, and what would forever be Havana in his mind, was the combination of coffee and Cuban cigarettes lingering lusciously on his lover's lips.

****


	9. Tu amor por siempre

**Havana Revisited – Part 4 - Tu amor por siempre**

********

"I have a surprise for you." The announcement came from behind the newspaper Jack was reading, or at least pretending to, considering it was in Spanish. Will had a sneaking suspicion Jack was hiding from him.

The two men were sitting at a sidewalk café, sipping strong Cuban coffee from ridiculously small cups. The morning sun was warm on Will's shoulders, and he'd removed his jacket, tossing it on the empty chair to his left. Jack was lounging opposite him, occupied with the latest news of the fighting in the hills.

Will closed his eyes and breathed in the scents all around him, heady with delight, for what he already had – and what he had to look forward to. An entire week alone with Jack, no other duties to pull him away. The breeze off the harbor carried the briny scent of the sea, a scent Will always associated with Jack. He glanced over at his lover, now busy lighting a slender brown cigarette, cupping his hand to shield from the wind.

The day was humid, promising to be another hot one. Will rolled up the sleeves of his dark blue silk shirt, and loosened the top two buttons. Jacks wore his white linen shirt unbuttoned, revealing a sleeveless undershirt that hugged his body. Despite the heat, Will shivered slightly in the breeze, savoring every drop of the image before him.

Jack, noticing Will watching him, carefully set down his coffee cup, stubbed out his cigarette and leaned towards Will, his voice husky and emotional. "Now, where were we?"

Smoothing his mustache, Jack ran his fingers down his beard, a familiar gesture that Will loved – no dangles to play with, though the gesture remained. Suddenly, there was no longer a bustling city street surrounding them, they were alone, focused only on each other.

Will swallowed and said, voice cracking slightly, "What was this surprise you were going to show me?"

With an enigmatic smile, Jack shook his head and waggled a finger at Will.

"No, not yet, my little dove. You must first humor me by allowing me time to prepare."

Jack signaled to their waiter for the check and rose, squaring his white straw hat on his head in another comforting gesture.

"I have made arrangements for later this afternoon, which leaves you, in my calculations, at least two free hours in this lovely city to indulge in whatever your heart desires"

Will smiled crookedly. "You know my heart's desire, Jack."

"Ah, yes. And I also know that said heart is stilled locked away. Bloody unfair, really. Nevertheless, we must do what we can to make sure _all_ your needs are satisfied."

"I am already satisfied, Jack. This has all been wonderful."

Jack preened a moment, and then was serious. "Are we ever truly satisfied? Or do we just take what we can, and hold on as long as we can?"

"I have heard it said, that to be truly satisfied is to die." Will searched Jack's eyes. "And yet, I am fully alive and completely satisfied."

The two men paused as the words hung between them. _Were either of them truly alive when they were apart?_

Jack broke the silence, shrugging aside the thought for the moment.

"Love has a curious way of reshuffling one's priorities," Jack commented, twisting a familiar phrase. "I thought I could never desire another, and yet I have fallen in love once again." The words were cryptic and Will's brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"I cannot wait for the two of you to meet," Jack continued, oblivious to Will's growing concern. "I'm telling you, Will, it is like the very first time, all over again. Blessed heaven." He paused and added thoughtfully, "In fact, it's going to be hard having t' share."

Will closed his eyes against what he was hearing, swallowing hard to keep in the protests wallowing in his chest. He managed a feigned smile. "I'm happy for you Jack."

Jack beamed. "I knew I could count on you t' understand. So, you won't mind me spending some time away this afternoon. You know, making sure everything is fine before I introduce you."

The dark, tight fist of jealousy weighing in the pit of his stomach, Will sipped his drink and said nothing. After breathing in a long, painfully memory-laden dram of air, Will nodded into his cup. After all, they had agreed. It had never occurred to him that he'd have to live up to the agreement.

Why Jack would choose this particular time to chase his conquests, was beyond Will.

"I have arranged to have you meet me in Cojimar later this afternoon." Jack waved down a taxi. "Flavio assured me he'd have everything perfect for when you arrive."

"Flavio?" Will almost choked on the name.

"Whut?" Jack said, genuinely surprised, shaking a scolding finger at Will. "_Never a name made a fellow worse, if the fellow not the name, mind._" He grinned. "Or something like that. Never could keep my proverbs straight." He brushed the thought away.

"You'll love him. Wonderful fellow. Reminds me of you in a way. Very good with his hands." Jack smiled. "Always knows exactly what I need and never fails to provide."

"So this Flavio is your latest fling?" Will couldn't help asking, kicking himself for doing so but needing to know at the same time.

Jack saw something in Will's face that stopped him cold. Laying aside the teasing he leaned over, draping an arm casually around Will's shoulders and sighed.

"Flavio is getting my _latest_ _fling_ ready to meet you. I was hoping to surprise you, but since you're set on thinking the worse, I see I will have to tell you firstly."

Straightening, he said proudly, "My new-found love is not a "he" but a "she". Now, dear heart, you do see the difference, eh? Hmm?"

Will was rendered, at the lack of a better word, speechless. In reality, he'd stopped breathing with the last hinging draw of air he'd managed, mind sent into a swirl of thoughts he wasn't ready to face. Of course. A woman. The one thing Will could never give Jack. He' had always wondered if this might happen. And, after last night's encounter with the girl in the bar, the thought had crossed his mind that Jack might have known her previously.

This explained it all.

If it weren't for the ever blackening cloud over his mind that rapidly stopped him from forming any other words besides 'no', Will would have probably mastered a façade, and asked Jack if it was her, the woman from the bar. Instead, his nature could bear only so much. Will brushed a fleck of ash from Jack's cigarette off his leg, and briskly stood up, bowing slightly. "I assume this is where I bid my farewell." The tone of his voice was freezing to Jack's core. "Send my best wishes to the lady." With that, Will turned, and with a couple paces, was out of Jack's sight.

"Shit." Jack stared dumbfound after Will for a blink, before hurriedly reaching for his wallet and tossing whatever money he happened to grab onto the table. "Will!?" A chair fell over, and another patron cast an evil eye on Jack as he fumbled through the space, but he couldn't have cared less for such trifles.

With the excess speed provided by the sudden burst of adrenaline coming from the heart-shattering fear that it had all been misunderstood, Jack reached the narrow alleys leading to their motel in record time. There, at the end of the walk, right before the last turn, stood Will Turner, chin pressed to his chest, his hands crossed, fingers pressed to his lips in deep thought.

Jack approached him carefully, his expression mournful, arms reached towards the bowed figure. Thoughts repeating a single prayer-like mantra, '_please, oh lord, please don't let me be misunderstood_', over and over again, Jack recoiled at the reaction he got from Will upon his touch.

Will opened his mouth slowly, gaze wavering as if trying to focus on _anything_, and uttered brokenly: "I don't... Yes, Jack, we have our freedom, but _why_-"

"_The Flying Pearl_."

"That's her name." Jack reached for Will's sleeve tentatively, as if taming a wild wolf. "That's her name. Well, it will be, she's not christened yet." He paused and took a step closer to Will, now standing directly in front of him, looking right into his eyes. Slowly, Jack raised a hand to tenderly cup Will's face. "I wanted you to be there to name her. With me."

Making no attempt to take things any further, Jack only stared into Will's eyes, his stance unwavering, in fear his affections would cause recoil. Once understanding settled, softening Will's face, Jack dared to press his lips on Will's. Murmuring into the testing, intimate touch, Jack explained further; "I gave her a name, true enough..." Gingerly, Will responded to the kiss, and Jack continued: "...but her soul is still missing and you're-"

The rest of the sentence was muffled into Will's mouth, as he embraced Jack, and sealed his lips with his own.

No further words were needed, until it was time to get dressed again, and go meet Flavio.

****


	10. Viva la Revolución

**Havana Revisited - Part 5 - Viva la Revolución**

****

Flavio was waiting in the hotel lobby when they finally made their way downstairs. Lean and muscular, the young Cuban was leaning against the counter, chatting amiably with the concierge. Deeply tanned, black hair slicked back, open-neck white cotton shirt, baggy pants, and canvas shoes, gave him the appearance of having just stepped off a boat.

He smiled widely when he saw them. "Jack Sparrow!" he said, enthusiastically. "What a wonderful surprise! What brings you to Havana?"

Will raised an eyebrow. "Surprise?"

Jack brushed aside the comment, sweeping the two men towards the door. "Surprise, indeed. I was just mentioning to my good friend here that we could use a knowledgeable guide for our evening's entertainment."

Flavio spread his arms. "Then you have found the right man. I will show you all the wonders of Havana, the hottest clubs and hottest babes. Leave everything to me."

The two kept up their chatter all the way to the street where a taxi waited at the curb. Flavio opened their door with a flourish before sliding into the driver's seat. The inane babble continued until they had pulled away from the hotel.

Will watched in wonder and some trepidation as Flavio sped through the narrow streets of Old Havana, cobbled roads that had originally been designed for horse and cart, not modern day automobiles, wide chrome and steel models imported directly from Detroit. Most of the streets were too narrow for even one-way traffic, but with a blithe disregard of the consequences, the majority were used as two-way streets. At most corners there were no policemen or lights to guide traffic; apparently the driver who blew his horn first was the one who has the right of way. As a result, it seemed most of the Cubans drove along at a merry clip, one hand constantly pounding the horn.

Another horn blare and they were careening around a blind corner and down another side street, passing the towering dome of the Capitol Building, a monument to Batista's love affair with all things American. The Plymouth sped through the narrow streets of Old Havana and then onto the broad boulevards of central downtown before swerving onto the Malecón.

"I do not believe we are being followed," Flavio said, after checking his mirrors for the dozenth time.

"Followed?" Will turned quickly to look behind them. "Would either of you like to explain what is going on?"

Jack laughed. "Nothing. Which is a good thing."

"One can never be too careful these days," Flavio added. "Batista, he has his agents everywhere. Watching, listening."

"Why would he be watching you?" Will asked. "Jack? Is there something ELSE you are not telling me?"

Flavio was the one who answered. "Captain Sparrow, he has done great things for our cause. If he were suspected of assisting the rebels in the hills, Batista's secret police would have him arrested, and tortured. Or worse."

"Is this true?" Will grasped Jack's arm in alarm.

Jack waved off Will's concern. "Flavio here exaggerates. I have done nothing more than provide passage once or twice for some of his friends. Nothing to be tortured over."

"You can never be too careful," Flavio reiterated. "It is best that we pretend we are merely acquaintances, while in Havana."

Will tapped Flavio on the shoulder. "Stop up there, would you please?"

Flavio did as instructed, pulling the car over and parked beside the wide sidewalk that bordered the seawall.

"Jack, out. We need to talk." Will said, opening his door. Once they were alone, he turned and questioned Jack. "I thought we had an agreement, to stay out of the lives of others, including their civil wars and revolutions." He shook his head in frustration. "This is not your argument, Jack."

"Didn't say it was," Jack said, pointing a finger at Will. "But, unlike you, I live in _this_ world most of the time, and I cannot just sit back and see people I care about tortured and killed at the hands of a brutal megalomaniac. I'm telling you, Will, this Batista is as bad if not worse that Cutler Beckett. Thousands have disappeared, bodies turn up every day it seems, mutilated before being murdered, some of them just kids."

"So you decided to take up their cause, the rebels in the hills?"

Jack didn't answer, just stared out at the choppy waters of the bay, the waves hitting the seawall below bringing with them the salty tang of the sea. Will looked at Jack's stern profile and touched his arm gently. "You know we can't help everyone. You know we aren't even supposed to. We're accidents ourselves, you do realize that, don't you Jack?"

At that Jack glanced up at Will, seriousness engraved into his very being. He covered Will's hand with his own. "Yes. Yes I do. But we can do our best."

The two men stood there in silence for a minute, Jack's eyes on the horizon, Will's on Jack. Finally, Jack broke the silence. "Will, you and I, we see things differently, live in different worlds. Yours is full of sorrow and death, you see first hand the terrible loss that comes from wars and such. Me? I get to live with the aftermath of it all, the ruins of people's lives, their struggles. How can I ignore them and just walk away?"

"What happened to the man whose motto was 'Take what you can, give nothing back?'"

Jack searched Will's eyes. "He found out forever is a very long time."

Will put his hand on Jack's shoulder and squeezed it affectionately. "So these 'bearded ones' in the mountains, they offer a better life? From what I've seen, life is pretty good for the _habaneros_. I mean, look at this place?" Will swept an arm to encompass the skyline of Havana, with its towering hotels, modern monuments to wealth and prestige, glistening in the golden light of the setting sun.

"For _some_," Jack amended, "and most of _them_ are guaranteed only the most marginal of existences. Come, let us explore the Havana night. You can see for yourself."

"What happened to Cojimar?" Will was not certain he wanted to spend a wild night in Havana. Accustomed to the solitude of the _Dutchman_, the teeming nightlife of Havana was sensory overload.

"Tomorrow, _mi pichón. _Tonight will be our last night in Havana." Jack wrapped an arm around Will's shoulders and headed him back towards Flavio and the waiting taxi. "If we are to understand why they wish for a revolution, we must see what it is they are revolting against. Aye?"

****


	11. Paradox in Paradise

**Havana Revisited - Part 6 - Paradox in Paradise**

****

"So tell me more about this Batista."

They were driving west along the wondrous Malecón, Havana's seafront promenade with its high stone seawall, past the centuries-old mansions facing the sea. The setting sun bathed the gaily colored façades of arches and balconies in rose, purple and lemon, fanciful three-story palaces aglow with a glamour that refused to fade away.

"Batista has been running Cuba through puppet presidents for years," Jack told Will as they sped along the wide curving embankment that separated the city from the bay, the grand old mansions giving way to towering hotels and modern high-rise apartments rising out of shanty-towns and slums. "Since the 30's, really. And when the bloody bastard couldn't find one to do his dirty work, he staged a coup and named himself dictator."

"Batista wants to convert the Malecón, one of the most beautiful avenues in the world, into one giant, hotel zone to exploit gambling run by foreign gangsters," Flavio added, turning around to make his point, narrowing missing several cars and a bicyclist. He answered the indignant horns blaring with his own, waving cheerfully at the passing motorists.

"I would think growth would be good for Havana," Will said, a puzzled look on his face. "New buildings bring new jobs, right?"

"Not good," Jack said, shaking his head. "Batista might say his goal's to create new jobs, but he's gone and gutted the laws like a bleeding fish, changed the rules altogether. He's left it wide open for the crooks an' cons running the casinos t' bring their own dealers and croupiers from the States." Gesturing to underline his words, Jack leaned closer to Will, eyes darkened with anger towards the corruption. "And let me tell you, the only jobs left for the local _habaneros_ are nothing but shitty."

"You think for a minute these foreign gangsters are going to dedicate their fabulous earnings to build schools, open highways or raise the standard of living in the countryside?" Flavio spat out the window in disgust.

"It's all about profit," Jack explained. "The big American companies get rich, the gangsters get richer while Batista and his cronies are busy skimming their share off the top. Everybody profits, everyone except," Jack paused, finger raised, "the Cubans themselves. _They_ get to suffer, while the bloody powers that be pour millions into shiny new hotels and casinos." Jack sat back in the seat. "Blood money,'s what it is." Watching Will's chin line sharpen as he clenched his teeth, Jack knew what the man was thinking. "Sound familiar?"

"Yes, too familiar." Will frowned. "Why doesn't someone do something about it?"

Flavio pulled over abruptly and turned around, thrusting a handful of photographs under Will's nose. "This is what happens if one complains." Will leafed through them in grim silence, photo after photo of bodies bloodied with bullets, young faces ripped apart by savage tortures. "Batista's thugs protect their patch with sadistic pleasure," Flavio told him, his voice trembling with emotion. "The time has come, _la daga en el suelo_. Everyone must decide what side they are on." He pointed to the grisly photos. "Are we just to ignore the cries of our countrymen, the ones tortured and buried alive by the political police? Or the men found castrated and left by the side of the road to serve as examples?"

"Unfortunately, what Flavio here says is all true," Jack said. "It's become a common sight to find the poor buggers who dared to object hanging from the lamp posts come sunrise."

Flavio regained his composure and put the photos away, glancing quickly in his mirrors before sliding back out into traffic. "The people of Cuba suffer. We are a country of beat-up schools, starving peasants, wide-spread poverty and massive unemployment. Here in Havana, prostitution and poverty is epidemic. And in the countryside, the peasants are suffering as well. Many of them are living in huts with thatched roofs and dirt floors. They have no running water, no refrigeration, no bathrooms, nothing but rice and beans to eat. And what does Batista do? He gives the gangsters millions in government funds for hotel construction."

Flavio suddenly swerved into a side street. "But why not show you first-hand what I speak of?"

"You don't need to show me," Will said stiffly, "I have seen this before. Too many times, in fact."

Jack sighed, Will's solemn face twisting his gut. "History does have an ugly way of repeating itself." Seeking Will's hand into his own, Jack soothed the helplessness they both felt, with the familiarity of each other's touch. The scenery changed in silence.

Up ahead, the palatial _Hotel Nacional de Cuba_came into view. Sitting on a bluff across from the Malecón, it was an impressive and imposing sight. Its two high towers, ten stories apiece, could be seen at a distance all over the city, and, in turn, the hotel offered spectacular views of the ocean and harbour, along with almost all of Havana. Elegant and luxurious in the classic style, it was "the" place to be in Havana. It was frequented by film legends like Frank Sinatra, Errol Flynn, Clark Gable, and Ava Gardner, along with hoards of tourists from America, who flooded the hotel's spacious reception areas, dining rooms and gardens.

The long drive approaching the hotel was lined with stately palm trees, flanked by a succession of tennis courts leading down to the left. The sound of splashing and laughter came wafting up from the poolside, beyond which elegantly coffered guests strolled on manicured lawns under mature trees. Expensive, shiny new cars crowded the lavish entrance. Inside the _Nacional's _magnificent tiled and vaulted lobby they could see waiters rushing back and forth with silver trays of drinks.

The contrast with the surrounding area could not have been more marked. In the two blocks they'd traveled since turning off the Malecón, Will had seen barefoot tattered-clothed children playing in the street among litter and dirt, dodging between rusting derelict cars. But here there was unembarrassed indulgence. Red carpets and uniformed commissioners waited to ease the paths of the rich American tourists.

Remembering the ragged children on the streets and roadside vendors peddling cheap food, Will's thoughts flashed back to his own childhood in England, as the uniformed attendant opened the cab door. Will didn't need to be shown. He knew first-hand, what sort of society could accommodate such grandiose luxury and abject poverty in such close proximity.

He had grown up in one.

****


	12. Yankee Imperialist

**Havana Revisited – Part 7 – Yankee Imperialist**

****

"Sure you don't want to join us?"

They were driving down the long drive, framed by tall, waving royal palms that led to the _Hotel Nacional_.

"Most certain, my friend." Flavio told Jack, as they pulled up to the hotel's grand entrance. "I refuse to spend a single peso of mine in that Yankee imperialist's casino."

Jack laughed shortly as the uniformed attendant opened the cab door. "Fair enough, mate, you can spend mine instead." He handed Flavio a handful of dollar bills, pressing his hand into a fist around Flavio's hand with a wink. "Here, take your girl to dinner and a show."

Flavio thanked him and pocketed the "fare," and made arrangements to meet the next day and drive the men to Cojimar, then wished his customers a good evening with a wave of his hand and drove off.

"I thought he was going to be our guide for the evening," Will said, as he watched the taxi daringly merge into the early evening traffic.

Jack smiled, placing a casual arm around Will's shoulder as they turned to the steps leading to the entrance of the hotel. "Flavio holds no particular fondness for Meyer Lansky."

"And this Lansky might be the 'Yankee Imperialist' mentioned?" Will straightened himself as Jack brushed a fleeting hand over his back, reluctant to lose the hold, but forced to keep up appearances before the, undeniably sour, cream of the fabricated society.

Tipping the doorman at the broad front doors, Jack laughed. "Flavio tends to exaggerate," he explained, as they walked up the stairs to the grand lobby. "Lansky's not so much an imperialist as he is a mobster."

"I'm not sure I see the difference," Will said, gazing in amazement at the _Nacional's_ grand entrance hall, with its luxurious, glittering chandeliers hanging from the wooden ceilings and colorful mosaic tiles decorating the arches.

"Depends on your definition of imperialist. Batista put Lansky on the payroll to clean up the casinos. Apparently, at the time, the only _honest_ games in town were being run by American gangsters. Ironic, isn't it?"

They went about halfway across the hotel's spacious reception area, heading towards the big lobby bar when a voice hailed them.

"Jack Sparrow!"

A small, dapper man was making his way across the hotel's lobby, arms outstretched in greeting.

Will turned to Jack, a puzzled look on his face. "Who's that?"

"The Yankee Imperialist himself. Meyer Lansky," Jack whispered through his charming smile aimed to the approaching casino operator.

"You _know_ him?"

Jack shrugged, noncommittal, "We've done some business together in the past."

Before Will could get Jack to explain, Lansky caught up with them, hand outstretched and a broad smile rivaling Jack's on his face.

"Nice to see you, Jack. I gather it's not business that brings you here."

"Nope, not this time. Strictly pleasure." Jack shook Lansky's hand.

"Well, you've come to the right place," Lansky said, waving an arm at their surroundings. "We've made a few changes since the last time you were here. What'da think?"

Jack looked around, nodding approvingly and whistled with a small shake of his head. "Never thought I'd see the day there'd be gambling in this here palace."

Lansky chuckled. "I will admit, it took a bit of _persuading_." He didn't elaborate, just proudly pointed out the latest renovations.

At the northern end of the long entrance hall, inside the curved loggias looking out over the Malecón, was an elaborate and luxurious new complex of public rooms – the ultra-high-priced _Café-Parisienne_, a blue-and-cream-satin lined room where patrons could dine on pressed duck, watch top-notch performers, then afterwards stroll into the brilliant palatial gold-and-marble _Casino International_, for an evening of gambling. Connecting the two was the _Starlight Terrace_ bar.

Jack let go another low whistle. "Quite an impressive place you've got here, mate." Giving a quick glance at Will and finding him following the conversation intently, Jack picked up an intrigued tone. "Who's running all this?"

"The bar is tended by local bar-tenders but we've brought in the best to run the others," the diminutive gangster cheerfully explained. "The _Parisienne__'__s _run by Gogi, from _Gogi's LaRue_ of New York. You know the place?"

"Don't get up to New York much," Jack said dismissively, shifting his attention back to Will again. "Too cold for me. I'd rather stay here, in the tropics, where it's…hot." Jack's gaze boring into Will's at the last word made the man cough and swiftly look away and admire the walls while biting the inside of his cheek.

Lansky's observation was fixed on the lush surroundings when he shrugged. "Can't say I blame you there. Fucking paradise here in comparison."

Entertaining himself with the sight of Will attempting nonchalance and trying to find something to focus on to keep from grinning, Jack smirked and clapped Lansky on his shoulder. "One can only hope."

They stopped to wait for Will, who suddenly had a bout of coughing and was catching his breath, outside the casino entrance where a big sign announced, "Wilbur Clark's Havana Casino."

"Brought him in from Las Vegas." Lansky pointed to the sign. "He's our front man, but my brother Jake, you remember him, don't you? He's the one running the floor."

"Remember him well." Jack grinned, as they were joined by the younger Lansky.

For brothers, the two looked nothing alike. Where Meyer was short – barely 5'3", dapper and trim, Jake was taller than his older brother, beefy and imposing. And, while Meyer was sometimes taciturn and cold, Jake was known as a joker and a backslapper.

He joined them with a hearty hail and a ravishing handshake. "If it ain't Jack Sparrow! Heard you were dead!"

Jack spread his arms wide and grinned. "The reports of my death, as you can see, were highly exaggerated."

Jake Lansky laughed as if he'd heard the cleverest joke. "Apparently so. What brings you to Havana?"

"My friend there, Will Turner," Jack pulled Will beside him with an arm around his neck, leisurely leaving it there and dangling his hand over Will's shoulder, gesturing as he spoke. "Captain Turner doesn't get to shore often." Jack lowered his head along with his voice. "Was hoping t' show him some of the pleasures the island has to offer, if ye get my drift."

"_Captain_ Turner?" Jake asked, glancing over at Will, who smiled a frozen, vaguely polite smile in return for being measured like a prized horse. "What's your friend do? Doesn't look the military type."

"He's a ferryman," Jack glibbed instantly. "Ferries souls. Even has his own boat."

Jake looked lost for a moment before bursting into a bellowing laughter, clapping Jack's shoulder repeatedly with a meaty hand in time with the bleats of hilarity.

"Good business." Struggling to get himself together, wiping his eyes with his hand, the younger Lansky apparently thought he was getting the hint. "I understand… Not exactly employed by the government, eh." Bringing his beefy palm to Jack's back one more time, he rushed to inquire, "Still have your own boat, Sparrow?"

Jack stood up from leaning to Will and gathered his hands back to himself, sending his words on display with a wave. "Thinking of selling it, actually. Getting out of the business."

Meyer joined the conversation and nodded towards Will, lowering his voice so as not to be overheard. "Your friend there, he's taking over the territory?" He studied Will for a moment, apparently liking what he saw. "We might be able to talk some business, put a good word in for him."

"Thanks for the offer, but Captain Turner is only here for pleasure."

Meyer Lansky shrugged. "There is business, and there is pleasure. Best not to mix the two." He gestured to the bartender at the bar. "Javier, give these gentleman anything they wish." He turned and shook Jack's hand again. "Enjoy your visit. Dinner and drinks are on me."

"Oh, and here," he added, fishing in his pocket. "Try your hand at the roulette tables, on the house." He handed Jack a stack of casino chips. At Jack's puzzled look, he said simply, "For services rendered. I might still need a favor in the future."

****


	13. Havana Cabana

**Havana Revisited – Part 8 – Havana Cabana**

****

"You _are_ going to explain all this," Will demanded Jack once they were alone again.

They were relaxing on plush-cushioned rattan armchairs on the red-tiled verandah overlooking the lush green gardens. Huge stone pillars lined the ground-floor garden terrace, while staff in immaculate white uniforms delivered strong, sweet daiquiris and mojitos to wealthy, tanned tourists. Local musicians serenaded while peacocks paraded proudly past the fountains and plants, adding to the tropical setting.

"You know, Will, the peacock, in ancient lore, along with the phoenix, was associated with immortality." Jack said casually, ignoring Will's comment.

Will sighed and closed his eyes against the exasperation as he sipped his mojito. "You're changing the subject, Jack."

"Not really," Jack replied, glancing pointedly at Will and quickly swallowing his shot of rum - straight up, no ice. He signalled to the waiter for another and pointed to the colourful bird displaying his plumage to the delight of the tourists. "Look at him, Will. Proud as a peacock, they say. And yet, what d'you reckon that really means?"

Will's brow furrowed delightfully, as it does when he's perplexed. Jack smiled, savouring the sight, chest swelling with the peacock's pride at the thought that this wonderful man was his, for all eternity. Well, relatively speaking, as there was no written words to that effect. Only the ones etched to his heart.

"That the bird is vain? Where are you going with this?" Will answered, frustrated with dancing around the subject Will thought much more imminent than any breed of pretty birds, seeing, that it obviously had something to do with the one that belonged to him.

"Come again?" Jack, lost in the reverie of watching his lover, was caught off-guard.

Will sighed again, struggling to keep his voice calm. "You asked me what proud as a peacock meant, and I said…"

"Oh, yes. Right!" Jack interrupted eagerly, sitting up and waving an educating hand around. "The peacock is an ancient bird, known for its…"

"Jack?" It was Will's turn to interrupt.

"Whut?" Will's tone was all too calm for Jack's comfort.

"Tell me _how_ you know the Lanskys, and this "business" you've had with them in the past."

Jack frowned. "Oh…_bugg_-- That -- Oh!" Melting into a welcoming smile at the waiter returning with their next round of drinks, Jack nearly hugged the man with the tray for buying him time to formulate his response. He was well aware of how Will felt about either of them "meddling" in history, as Will so eloquently put it. And Jack…agreed. Being immortal entailed a certain responsibility, as they both knew all too well.

"Why don't we take a stroll?" Jack said brightly, swiftly rising to his feet and straightening the cuffs of his white linen jacket. Donning his Panama hat, he gestured to the manicured lawn dotted with palm trees leading down to the pool. "The night is young, the moon is bright…"

Will gave Jack one of his long-suffering looks, but rose obediently, his lithe frame accentuated by the black silk shirt clinging ever so enticingly snugly to his body in the humidity, his hair smoothed back to flow freely onto his shoulders, a lick of warm breeze stirring the curls. Jack swallowed, groaning inwardly in frustration out of the mingling of desire and the slight nag of guilt in his mind, and downed his drink in one gulp.

"It's quite simple, really." Jack finally explained as they walked along the paved pathway through the immaculate gardens towards the blue tiled pool glimmering beyond, accompanied by the impossibly loud silence Will treated Jack with. "I would provide discrete transport for certain individuals from one point to another, in return for a wink and a nod from the local Customs officials."

"_Discrete_ transportation?" Will raised an eyebrow, questioningly.

Jack grinned, relieved by Will asking questions, instead of staying as loquacious as a brick wall. "Let's just say, there are some persons, whose names will remain unmentioned for now, who found themselves in need of immediate departure, with very minimal attention."

Will nodded, gathering, turning and fitting the pieces together as they were dealt. "And you rose to the occasion and provided that?"

"Well, why not? Pay was good, no harm was done, and besides," Jack paused and, glancing around, lowered voice and added, "Without the hassle with the Customs' inspections, I was able to make my return trips just as profitable."

"Transporting what, exactly?"

"Guns," Jack replied innocently with a cheerful smile.

Will looked around in alarm at the nearby tourists lounging around the pool, and hastily dragged Jack into the closest empty cabana. "Guns?" he hissed, not quite sure he was hearing right. Making sure the curtains were securely closed, Will swirled around and rasped with a whisper that resounded louder than an enraged shout ever could, "Have you gone mad?"

Jack, smiling, delighted by the unexpected but highly welcomed convenience of being alone and unseen with his paramour, pulled Will's rigid form closer and locked Will's eyes with his own. Suddenly, finding deep concern in Will's gaze, Jack grew serious. Not a hint of flirt or playfulness were at sight when he curved his hands behind Will's neck, rubbing a soothing circle on the back of Will's head with his thumb. "Mad about you, aye," Jack murmured, not shifting his eyes, not even blinking. "But we already knew that, didn't we?"

A flurry of questions bubbled inside Will, each one of them equally important in gaining the final pieces to form a clear picture, but before they got out in words, Jack placed a tentative, soft kiss to Will's lips, and then withdrew slowly.

Eyes closed, a forlorn smile on his face, Jack spoke again with subdued shades. "You see, the peacock-" Jack peeked through one eye and a genuine smile spread to alight his face at Will's nonplussed expression, so Jack removed his hat, tossed it on the ground, and lifted a finger to Will's lips to silence any protests. "The peacock, regardless of the fancy fables and posh plumes, is, at the end of the day, nothing more than a mundane chicken."

The beginning of a smile curving the corner of Will's mouth prompted Jack to slide his finger over the beloved lips with a responding grin of his own, as he eased his palm to caress the side of Will's face while scooting close enough to press his nose against Will's, gaining Will's arms to wrap around his waist.

"The peacock," Jack continued, his words warm on Will's lips. "While being pretty and serving as the eyes of a god or two, still fights for the same crumbs an' worms an' bugs as the next poultry, because," Jack paused and drew his head back to see Will's face. "It still has to get along when the gods aren't around to feed it ambrosia."

There it was, the glaringly missing piece that finally found its place, clearing the rest of the fog in Will's mind. "There's going to be a war," he stated the obvious fact.

Jack only bowed his head slowly.

"But not only between the revolutionaries and the government." Will's eyes widened at the progressing thought. "This time it will be different, that's why you're doing this!"

"Keep your voice down!" Jack hissed, then leaned to press his cheek to Will's and continued with his lips brushing Will's ear, "They've started to kill each other now." Jack flung a hand to indicate to the Lanskys and the lavish hotel. "And it looks to be more than the usual hit, and there's no knowing how far the spider has weaved its webs." He shrugged, and the gesture struck deep in the core of Will with the sheer helplessness it entailed.

For Will, that feeling soon transformed into great alleviation, abating all that was left of his worst suspicions, and he couldn't help but to give a laugh at his own doubts.

Jack looked quizzical at the odd reaction, and Will explained without asking, "You're not really doing anything, for anyone, that would help them in gaining an upper hand, are you? You're only trying not to be a fly in the trap."

"Well, technically…" Jack didn't get any further, before Will, unable to resist, wrapped his arms around Jack's neck, and pulled him close, inclining to kiss Jack thoroughly, his tongue demanding entrance and inviting Jack's to join in the dance, panting slightly as he savoured the lingering taste of rum and what was essentially Jack.

"Mmmm," Jack hummed into Will's mouth and departed just a fraction, enough to mumble, "It's all still very much against any laws and regulations."

"I don't know what to do with you, pirate," Will whispered in breathless, feigned dismay, and tugged Jack's shirt out of his trousers to sneak his hands against his bare back, avidly claiming Jack's mouth with his tongue again, now liberated from his contemplations, allowing him to feel the full force of his desire.

Jack grinned into the kiss and pulled back deliberately so he could look into Will's eyes again, black with excitement and yearn. "Oh, I know exactly what you can do with me, love," he purred, and slipped his hand past the belt of Will's trousers.

Thanking the gods above for the current style of loose fitting pants, he slid his fingers along the hardening prize he was searching for, then wrapped his palm tightly around Will's cock, twisting slightly, craving to hear the responding gasp and purr that shot sparks through Jack's whole being.

Aligning himself to Will to brush his cock against Will's through the annoying layers of clothes, Jack engulfed Will's sighs and silenced his own with a devouring mouth on Will's, the slow, firm strokes of his hand pleasing them both, urging them towards the moment when this alone would not be enough.

Will sucked Jack's lip into his mouth, eyes closed with the desperate attempt to stay quiet, the titillating knowledge of a mere veil separating them from the eyes of the outside world only adding to his excitement, which expressed itself with Will's fingers pressing insistently into Jack's back.

A sudden noise outside the canvas wall alarmed both men to jolt back and listen carefully as someone strolled by close enough to reach out and touch. When the steps descended, Jack chuckled with relief, realizing that the state they were both in didn't leave much room for guessing in the happenstance that someone would actually peek in.

Jack's amusement rubbed off on Will, who sniggered lightly and rolled his eyes at the whole situation, all the while drawing Jack back to himself by the arm. The prominent evidence of Will's heated predicament hadn't startled at all.

Will held Jack's gaze when he licked his upper lip slowly, causing Jack to swallow hard and focus keenly on the tantalizing sight, tilting his head in lust-filled appreciation.

With a frustrated groan, Jack reluctantly pried his eyes away and busied himself with smoothing the sleeve of his jacket. "Much as I want to, love, it'd be best not be getting caught with our proverbial pants down, aye?"

Will closed his eyes in protest, suppressing a huff, and wishing there was a solid wall he could push Jack against and convince him otherwise. Then he opened them again with an impish grin. "Jack."

Looking up and regarding Will suspiciously, Jack frantically tried to read Will's expression, promising as it was. "What?"

"What's the worst thing that could happen?"

Inspecting the ludicrously thin curtains which kept them out of sight, true enough, but did nothing in ways of keeping them unheard, briefly eyeing the two sun bathing chairs in the cabana, Jack resigned under the impossibilities.

"Someone will hear," Jack said, disgruntled, tallying the outcome of that happening, and pressing his cock against Will's irresistible hand sneaking beneath the waistband of his trousers, while Will himself feigned innocence, and followed Jack's example at peering at the curtains with great interest.

"Then," Will whispered almost inaudibly, stepping around Jack and pressing himself flush against his back. "You'll just have to be _quiet_."

Jack answered with a ragged sigh

"You remember those first times aboard the Pearl after it was no secret to the crew what was taking place in our own quarters?" Will murmured with a velvety purr and stroked a seductive hand along Jack's waist, pulling at the hem of his shirt to reach more bare skin.

"How could I forget?" Jack groaned. Still not quite sure where Will was getting with this, but gladly reveled in his touch nonetheless.

"And what about before that?" Halting his caresses, Will waited for a favourable answer.

Softening into a wide, conspiratorial grin, Jack was starting to follow the path of Will's mind with ease, and nudged his hips back to have Will's arousal tighter against him. "Aah, I know what you're up to."

There had been a time in the folds of history, when their personal affairs would have affected dozens of men, a time, when a blacksmith had to prove his worth in front of seasoned sailors and convince them to accept him as their peer. No words from their Captain would have made any difference, for they lived by the pirate's code in a world where one man was for one man alone - themselves. It wouldn't have done Will any favours, lest there were any reason to believe that Will had earned a feather in his hat by picking it from the Captains bunk, with nothing else to show but a pretty face and an arse the Captain had found delectable enough to fuck.

It didn't mean that their relentless hunger for each other had abated in the slightest, as the solution was merely a matter of the volume they expressed their pleasure with.

Jack took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, closed his eyes and rested against Will's chest, adjusting his stance to accommodate the responding lean from Will, and reached behind him, cupping Will's bollocks through the clothing.

With deft movements, Will opened Jack's belt and worked Jack's cock out of its confinements, but with the feel of the hot hardness in his hand, and Jack's head resting on his shoulder, his mouth slightly open, the man thoroughly molten with Will's touch, Will was forced to admit that this, alas, would not suffice.

Barely able to form the words through his lust-constricted throat, Will rasped into Jack's ear with a trembling voice, letting his hold of Jack's erection with a lingering brush of fingertips."Jack, I'm sorry, I can't do this."

Petrifying, Jack snapped his eyes open, not believing what he'd just heard, and turned around the moment the words sank in.

Gawping at Will, his cock jutting demandingly from his pants, Jack could not even begin to come up with a response.

Closing the distance with a pacifying hand to capture Jack's, which in turn flailed in search of words out of the thin air, Will managed to add the important part of his announcement silently despite his unspeakable urge to shout it out for the whole world. "Not like this, birdie, I want you too much." Will wrapped his arm tightly around Jack's back, clutching the man against his chest, and grabbed Jack's cock in his hand hard without a word of warning, staring him in the eyes darkly enough to make a lesser man shake with trepidation. "I need all that you have to give."

The Adam's apple in Jack's throat worked up and down in time with Jack swallowing the moan that welled in his chest. The look in Will's eyes already said everything there was to say, and Jack felt his heart twist painfully with the same yearning they had been trying to quench for decades, always finding it being barely enough to keep the thirst at bay before it became too much to bear. Savouring every mewl, every groan and whimper, every single gasped word and the voluptuous sounds at the heights of ecstasy, and treasuring each of them safely in the deepest corners of their hearts, did not compare with a hasty tumble on the fringe of a disaster… Not, when it could be years before they could listen to each other again.

Jack realized he hadn't been breathing for a few minutes, so he gasped a lungful or air, feeling the calming rush course through his every limb, and he nodded in agreement. Another breath, and Jack was able to speak again, and even mustered a faint smile, "Mind unhanding the goods then, darling?" Jack pushed his cock back and forth slowly in Will's hold. "Otherwise you'll just have to take it all right _now._"

Momentarily confused, then giving a short laugh at himself, Will acquiesced to the sincere request, but instead of stepping back and giving Jack room to cover his self, Will abruptly genuflected and engulfed Jack's prick deep into his throat.

Tossing his head back and gritting his teeth so that the tendons in his throat tautened, grabbing Will's hair almost violently, Jack fought to keep his despairing call to himself.

After a few bliss-filled seconds, Will slid the rigid flesh out his mouth, drawing his tongue along the length, and pecked a kiss on the tip, before standing up again, swiping the corner of his mischievous smirk with his thumb.

Trying hard not to pant too loud, Jack stared at Will as if he'd just dropped from the skies, and wheezed, "What the hell d'you do that for?!"

Will bit his lip, savouring Jack's taste, then shrugged and tilted his head pretending verdant indifference. "I was making sure you won't forget me on your date."

"My date?" Jack tucked his shirt in, almost forgetting to keep his voice down. "Your date's more like it."

"Oh? So that means this time you'll actually remember my name without someone having to squeeze it out of you with peen tongs?" Will watched Jack fasten his belt, and straightened his own appearance, frowning at a button on his shirt to keep from grinning too widely.

"I'll be sure to have you know that I bloody well remember your name by heart, the very moment we get some privacy around here." Dressed and sharp-looking, Jack picked his hat from the ground and dusted it before planting it on his head.

"I'll have to take your word for it for now, since _I _wasn't the one who forgot to introduce me to the Lanskys." Will made a tutting sound, "Where are your manners Captain Peacock?"

They melted for one more, hat dropping, lingering kiss before Havana again whisked them away from the opportunity.

"Ready?" Jack asked, clearly reluctant to let Will out of the embrace.

Stepping back and arranging his own, unsatisfied goods more comfortably, Will nodded resolutely and made towards the outside world, holding the curtain open. "Yes. Let's go."

Adjusting his hat and giving another tug on his now considerably less tight slacks, Jack tilted his head in the direction of the fading light beyond the cabana. "What say you we go spend some Imperialist dollars at the casino then?" As Will followed him out into the night, Jack added in a low voice for his lover's ears only. "No doubt I'll lose my pants in the process."

Will could only smile hopefully in response.

****

Strolling across the lawn back towards the hotel, Will saw something glimmering in blue on the ground, which, on a closer look, proved to be a tail feather of a peacock. Will stopped and glanced at Jack's retreating back, then stepped to pick the feather up with the intention of calling Jack to wait.

Getting up, Will found Jack standing, his brow lifted in question. "What is it?"

"I think you dropped something," Will glibbed, striding to Jack while waving the feather around, and snatched his prize from Jack's reach when he extended a hand to touch it.

"No, my good Sir, please, do allow me to do the honours," Will bowed pretentiously with a playful, teasing smile, then forced his face solemn, stood up straight as an arrow and cleared his throat mightily.

Ignoring Jack's thoroughly puzzled expression, Will continued his histrionics and declared with a deep voice, "I hereby, on this day, crown thee, Jack Sparrow, The Most Cockiest Cock Among Cocks, were it Pea, or otherwise." Unable to bite back the chuckle following Jack's gleeful snort at his newly acquired title, Will gestured for Jack to bow his head, and mounted the peacock feather under the band around Jack's hat.

Beaming, pleased with his handiwork, Will took a step back to admire it from a distance, tilting his head this way and that, tapping his finger to his lips with a deep frown, and altogether looking like he was estimating a precious, invaluable work of art.

Jack, a step away, switched postures and turned around gradually for the judge to have all the possible assets at his perusal, then stood stoic with his hands to his hips, staring blindly into the distance like a statue, waiting for the final conclusion.

"No." Will reached his decision with a dismissive shake of his head and made to pluck the feather off the hat.

"What you mean 'no'?" Protecting his possessions, Jack quickly snatched the hat off his head and hugged it to himself, teasing Will with an indignant lift of chin. "It's mine now, you gave it to me yourself!"

"Fine, you can keep it." Will failed miserably in trying not to smile fondly at the pout Jack had mastered to perfection over the years. "I was only trying to save you from a fierce revolution by ousting you peacefully."

"Ousting?" Jack released the hat from his hold and fiddled with the feather, then pleadingly peered at Will from under his brow, his eyes still twinkling amusedly. "Not very far, I hope."

Will felt the ache of their denied osculation with a pang, and barely stopped himself from filling the hollow by reaching to touch Jack's face. Succeeding in besting his emotions, Will merely shook his head slightly and smiled lovingly along with his words, "Not so far that I wouldn't hear the song of my hummingbird."

Closing his eyes, Jack picked the feather off the hat before donning it, and said nothing upon opening them again. The nigh nauseating skirmish of _'__having to__' _against _'__wanting to__' _turned his stomach, and he only nodded towards the hotel as necessity declared the undisputable winner.

Will allowed his hand the less than satisfying pleasure of placing it to Jack's back, and marked the end of the moments of carefree silliness that the bystanders saw as nothing more than two tourists having imbibed a few too many mojitos, and gotten giddy from the luscious surroundings.

With that large hand, Will helped Jack, as well as himself, to return to the harsh, cold reality of mobsters, murders and money.

They moved along for a few paces before Jack halted, and with a long, arresting look into Will's eyes, drew the peacock feather between his fingers once, watching as the vanes bent brutally along the scape, and sprung back to form the fancy feather in all its glory, good as new… Jack dropped the feather to the ground and tugged Will by the sleeve wordlessly, sighing deeply to gather himself, to arrange his own plumes so that they would once again resist and recover the awaiting pressure.

A song sounded faintly from a distance as they left the lonely feather behind, the music so quiet, that unless one knew what they were hearing, it would've been impossible to decipher.

Jack gave quick, unnoticeable brush across Will's palm, and the instant response, the light touch of his love's fingertips, were a much needed reminder that this time… This time, Jack wasn't left to smooth his feathers out alone.

Encouraged, feeling much better already, Jack began to hum along the distant song. Further fortified by the pleasantly surprised smile from Will, Jack thought, with a wide, joyous grin and pure devotion in his heart, that there was a mighty good reason why he so loved living the life of a hummingbird.

****


	14. Nacional Treasure

**Havana Revisited – Part 9 – Nacional Treasure**

****

A bellhop, with red jacket and shiny brass buttons, was waiting in the lobby for Jack and Will when they returned from their stroll around the _Hotel Nacional's_ gardens.

"Captain Jack Sparrow?" he asked. "I was asked to deliver this."

He held out a silver plate on which lay a white linen envelope with the words _Captain Jack Sparrow_ written in neat script on the outside.

Frowning, Jack picked up the envelope and looked at it front and back, holding it briefly to his nose, he gave it a sniff. "Hmmm." He held it up to the light before slitting it open with his pocket knife. A key on a brass ring fell out as he removed a single sheet of quality paper, folded once.

"Who's it from?" Will asked curiously, bending down to retrieve the key, as Jack scanned the contents of the note written on the hotel's stationery.

Glancing around the lobby, Jack asked the bellhop, "Did you see who left this?"

The young man shrugged. "I was just asked to deliver it. The concierge might know. Would you like me to fetch him for you?"

Jack fished in his pocket for some coins and tipped the bellhop. "S'not important, no." He waited until the bellhop left, then turned and said in a low voice, "Flavio took the liberty of booking us a room. It seems there have been some complications and the preparations in Cojimar are taking longer than expected." Shrugging, Jack grinned and spread his arms wide. "So, my pigeon, it appears we will be stuck in Havana a few more days."

Will smiled. "Doesn't much matter where, as long as I am stuck with you."

Glancing at his watch, Jack gave Will a wink. "I believe we have just enough time to check out the more amicable qualities of our room before Flavio returns with our reinforcements."

Alarmed, Will glanced hurriedly around the spacious lobby. "Revolutionaries? Here?"

Chuckling, Jack took Will's elbow and steered him towards the elevators. "No, more dangerous that that." He gestured to two lovely young women sitting at the lobby bar who flashed the two men encouraging smiles. "Our dates."

****

It had been arranged for their "dates" to be waiting in the lobby bar when they returned downstairs from their soirée in their room. Will had suggested they forgo the evening's entertainment, but Jack insisted otherwise.

"I am perfectly content with staying here," Will had protested, lazily watching the ceiling fan as it cooled their sweat drenched skin. "What could possibly be more enjoyable?"

Jack rolled over and propping himself on one elbow, took his other hand and lightly brushed back the damp hair from Will's face. "Willow, I would be more than happy, ecstatic actually, to do nothing more, for evermore, than lie here and explore all the delightful and may I add, tantalizing treasure you have to offer." He trailed a finger along Will's jaw and chin, and gave his lips a tap. "But, my darling, you deserve to see first hand the delights of a sultry Havana night."

Will nipped Jack's finger, teasing teeth and tongue suckling, so that Jack rolled his eyes and groaned, his resolve wavering. "What can be so alluring about a city where we need "dates" in order to be accepted?" He took Jack's hand and pressed it to his face, lingering a soft kiss on the palm. "I am not ashamed of us. I do not want to spend my time ashore pretending to be something I am not."

"Unfortunately, society has not grown any more accepting over the years," Jack said, nuzzling his face into Will's hand. "As much as I would wish it otherwise. Although, he said, punctuating each word with a kiss, "You. Might. Just. Be. Surprised. At. What. I. Have. In. Store. For. You."

Wrestling himself on top of Jack, Will grinned. "Surprise me. Now."

"What about dinner?" Jack teased.

"Room service."

"Our dates?"

"They can wait."

"And you'd rather not."

Will, being a man of more action than words, answered in his usual fashion.

****

A brisk knock on the door elicited a groan from the two men. Extracting himself from his entangled embrace, Jack pulled on the thick terry robe the hotel provided, and thanking the foresight of Flavio in booking a suite, padded into the next room to see what was so infernally important to interrupt his reuniting with Will.

"Who is it?" Jack said loudly.

"Room Service."

Jack unlatched the door and opened it enough to see the hall beyond. A uniformed waiter stood patiently with a trolley cart laden with silver domed dishes, fresh flowers and several bottles of wine chilling in their silver tubs.

"We didn't order room service," Jack said, eyeing the cart suspiciously.

"No, Sir." The waiter said, and produced a card tucked away in the flowers. "The gentleman downstairs said you'd understand." He handed the card through the crack in the door.

Jack scanned the card quickly, a lop-sided grin replacing his initial distrust. He opened the door wide enough to slip the cart through and told the waiter to wait a moment before closing the door in his face. Jack dashed back to the bedroom and quickly ruffled through his pant's pockets until he found some cash and as quickly darted back to the door, thrusting the handful towards the still waiting waiter. Then, another thought struck him and he told the man to wait again, and rushed back down the hall.

Will, who was half sitting in bed gave Jack a puzzled look. "What is it? Anything the matter?"

"No, not a thing. You just stay there, right there. Won't be a moment." Jack smiled and then found the items he was searching for with an "Ah ha!"

The waiter was leaning against the wall outside the room when Jack returned. Scribbling a quick note on the pad of stationery lying next to the phone he wrapped the casino chips that Lansky had given him inside and handed them to the porter.

"There should be two lovely ladies waiting in the lobby bar. See to it they get these, compliments of Jack Sparrow. And inform them we will be joining them a bit later than expected."

"Yes, sir." The man pocketed the bundle and asked, "Will there be anything else, sir?"

Jack shooed him on his way. "No, everything is just perfect, now."

He shut the door and wheeled the cart down the hall to the bedroom. With a flourish, Jack peeled off his robe and holding arms wide, asked brightly, "Did somebody order room service?"

****


	15. Dos Gardenias

**Havana Revisited – Part 10 – Dos Gardenias**

****

"Jack? Who are these women we are supposed to be meeting?"

Will had to raise his voice for his overly-innocent question to be heard over the running water in the bathroom, where Jack was cheerfully adjusting the temperature, singing snatches of the latest popular songs.

Rubbing water off his eyes, Jack poked his head out from behind the shower curtain, shiny droplets on his beard and mustache reflecting the light, giving him the appearance of having bathed in diamonds. "Friends of Flavio's." Reaching to draw Will into the shower with him, Jack added, "Well, he _is_ more friendlier with Marta… He proposed us to entertain the ladies on this fine evening."

The curtain closed behind Will, and Jack, dropping the subject, resumed singing in an off-key, teasing baritone, while maneuvering Will under the running water, "_Hey! Jealous lover - I'm telling you true, I know that you're jealous - But there's no one but you._"

"I am not jealous," Will insisted, withdrawing his head from the shower, eyes closed, a smile betraying his words. "I'd only like to know what sort of trouble you're getting me into, for once."

Chuckling, Jack wrapped his arms around Will and continued to croon in his ear, ignoring his protests. "_Could have cheated lots of times_," Jack paused to press his lips to Will's neck, tasting their mingled sweat before it was rinsed away, and, reciting rather than singing, kissed his way along Will's jaw, "_but just couldn't do, I was much too busy baby - being faithful to you_…"

Gently capturing Will's lips with his own, Jack steered them both under the shower, smiling when Will smiled into the kiss, relishing both the heat from the water and his lover's body, deliciously pressed to his.

Gliding his hands over Jack's back, Will broke from the lip-lock long enough to murmur, "Is that so?" before losing himself to the sensation of hot water and even hotter lips.

Departing with a sigh, Jack pushed the shower handle aside and took the soap. "You tell me, catkin," he replied with a wink, and began to make lazy circles on Will's chest.

Lathering the soap, Jack did not fail to note the curve of Will's throat as he bent his head to wet his hair thoroughly while Jack ran languid hands along Will's ribs.

After the wordless exchange of Will handing out his palm, Jack pouring shampoo on it, and replacing the bottle, Jack did not pass the opportunity to stroke his palms to Will's sides firmly, up to his arm pits and onto his arms, while watching keenly, nigh hypnotized, as the man washed his hair.

Each passing second of the utterly insignificant act of normalcy was etched into Jack's memory, saved, treasured, worshipped, so that they could be summoned back, clung to, remembered - these divine moments, these blessed fleeting bits of time, when Jack was merely Jack, with Will who was only Will.

It helped to keep whatever sanity was left in the immortal when he was left to continue to defy the laws of nature alone.

Will emerged from under the stream of water and asked once more, conveniently halting the melancholic trail Jack's thoughts had taken, and whisking him back into the present; "Well? Are you going to explain what I getting into this evening?"

Jack could not help but grin widely at Will's choice of words. He winked and began to croon another popular tune.

_Two Gardenias for you__  
With them I'd like to say__  
I want you, I love you, my life  
Give them all of your attention  
As they are your heart and mine.**_

"Jack!" Will laughed, and grabbing the soap, turned Jack around so he could wash his back. "You are avoiding my question, and you know it." He soaped his hands and began to massage Jack's back, as Jack stretched like a cat, pressing his hands to the tiled wall of the stall and wriggled his butt invitingly.

"And stop trying to change the subject."

"I am doing nothing of the sort." Jack peeked under his arm at Will, a devilish grin on his face. "In fact, I would say you are doing a fine job of it yourself." He gestured with his chin towards Will's rock hard cock. Swaying his buttocks provocatively, he added, "Well? You started it…"

Will ducked his head out of the shower and looking around, smiled as he grabbed the bottle of bath oil he'd seen earlier from the shelf above the sink. Uncapping it, he wrinkled his nose as the steamy air was filled with the heavy scent of gardenias. _What else?_ He began to slowly coat his cock, running his other hand down Jack's back and pressing his oil-slick fingers against the beckoning opening, maneuvering their way inside as Jack sighed and pushed backwards.

_Two gardenias for you  
which will hold all of the warmth of a kiss  
of those kisses that I gave you  
and that you will never find  
in the warmth of another love_

The rest of the song was lost in a delighted gasp as Will happily finished what he'd started.

****

Freshly bathed, in matching crisp white linen suits, their still damp hair slicked back beneath their Panama hats, the two men descended from their heavenly solitude, reluctantly emerging from the elevators into the bustling activity of the crowded hotel lobby. They wove their way through a colorful array of smartly dressed men and bejeweled women, rich American tourists looking for a night of tropical romance and exotic adventure. The bar was doing a lively business, with white-coated waiters moving to and fro, carrying trays of mojitos and daiquiris – those sinfully sweet rum drinks the Yankee tourists loved so much.

"Do you see them?" Will asked, craning his neck to see across the crowded room.

"No. Perhaps they are still in the casino." Jack steered Will towards the end of the loggia, where the newly opened _Casino International_ was located. A moderate sized casino, it offered seven roulette, three blackjack tables, and one crap game, along with 21 slot machines ringing the room, ranging from five cents to a dollar a play. Chips cost as little as a quarter in this palatial gold-and-marble room with its glittering chandeliers. A posh addition to an already plush hotel, it had something for everyone – from a Toledo clerk on a package tour to a millionaire on holiday.

The girls were at one of the roulette tables, languorous beauties, with dark hair and eyes and full, curvaceous bodies, and apparently good fortune, judging from the stack of chips in front of them. One of the women, caught sight of them as they made their way across the room and enthusiastically waved her arm, on which at least a half dozen gold bangles jingled. Her friend looked up and smiled in recognition. To Will's surprise, it was the bar-girl, Mercedes, who'd taught him to rumba.

"Señor Sparrow!" The first woman called. "See what luck we have had!" She gestured to the stacks of chips in front of her.

Jack smiled and pardoned his way through the people crowded around the table and, nodding politely to the croupier, swept the stack of chips deftly into the pocket of his jacket. Taking the woman's elbow he bowed slightly to the rest of the players and said brightly, "My lovely Marta, as much as I do not wish to interrupt your incredibly good fortune with the wheel, I believe we have a dinner engagement waiting, aye?"

Turning to Will he added, "You remember Mercedes? Perhaps you will buy her a drink while I take Marta to cash out her chips. We won't be but a minute."

Giggling, Marta allowed herself to be led away from the table, waiting until they were out of earshot of the others to whisper quickly. "Flavio cannot meet us later. Something has come up."

Nodding at a passing couple, Jack guided Marta towards the cashier's window. "Did he mention where they are meeting?" Jack asked out of the corner of his mouth.

"No, he said it would be too dangerous." Marta's eyes filled with tears as she placed a hand on Jack's arm. "I am so worried, what if they…"

Jack hushed her with a quick finger to her lips. "Shhh, not here. You just struck it rich, you should be smiling." He smiled encouragingly and added with a wink, "Flavio will be proud to hear you were able to win such a sum of Yankee Imperialist money."

Marta managed a smile as she squeezed Jack's arm. "He will be pleased, yes."

****

While Jack and Marta were cashing out her winnings, Will was gallantly trying to entertain Mercedes. Unfortunately, the young woman only knew a rudimentary amount of English, and Will's Spanish was quite rusty.

"You come here often?" Will asked, kicking himself immediately for asking, not wanting to imply she was a working girl.

Mercedes giggled, and shook her head. "No, I cannot, how you say? Too many dollars?"

"Afford it?" Will offered, getting an eager nod in return.

A smartly dressed waiter paused beside their table, and gave them a quizzical look. Will smiled and ordered a round of drinks for the group.

"The local habaneros do not visit the _Hotel Nacional_." Mercedes waved her hand at the crowded room. They work here."

Will glanced around at the crowd, noting what she said was true. The room was full of what appeared to be mostly American tourists, while all the hotel employees – waiters, busboys, porters, even the bartenders, were locals.

Jack and Marta joined them in time to overhear Mercedes' last remark.

"Too often, I am afraid, Americans get the idea that Cubans in Havana spend their time going to night clubs." Marta said. "Actually, Cubans are much like people everywhere; most of them go home and go to bed at night."

She paused as the waiter set their drinks down, and then shrugged and added, philosophically, "But since American tourists are insatiably addicted to night clubs, there are some Cubans who are both polite and wise, and stay up to keep the places open." She laughed. "The tourists are just good business."

Will glanced quickly at Jack, who grimaced at the familiar phrase. "Just good business, eh?" he said, giving Will a pointed look back. "Better hope it won't get swallowed under the waves of greed, then."

"It is Batista and his corrupt officers and the Yankee Imperialists like Lansky who are guilty of greed. The Cuban people are only trying to survive." Marta said passionately though in a low voice so as not to be overheard. "These rich, greedy Americans, they see Havana as nothing more than a casino and brothel for American businessmen over for a big weekend from Miami. I have seen them, with my own eyes, drunk, reeling through the streets, picking up girls, not more than fourteen years of age and tossing coins in the streets to make men scramble in the gutter."

"And yet you were willing to come here, even when Flavio was not," Jack pointed out.

Marta shrugged and pouted. "I am not a man, I must use what weapons I have in order to survive. He told me you were not like all the others, that you understood the just cause he fights for."

"So he sent _you_ to assure that I continue _understanding_?" The sharp edge in Jack's voice made Will frown in confusion, and Marta look away briefly, as if caught with her hand in Jack's pocket, while he continued in measured tones, "Or is it, perchance, my friend Captain Turner here, that he wishes to recruit?" Shaking his head slowly, disappointed, Jack grabbed his drink, took a deep gulp, and after returning the glass to the table, casually stretched his arm to the back of Will's seat, the stern look in his eyes speaking louder than the unuttered '_not a chance, darling_,' had been, if voiced.

Any further discussion was cut short as their waiter returned and announced their table was ready in the dining room. Claudio, the maitre'd frowned as they presented themselves and pulled Jack to one side.

"The _Café-Parisienne_ is strictly off limits to _their_ type," he said quietly, gesturing towards the two women.

"And what exactly is _their_ type?" Jack asked, returning to the group and placing a possessive hand on Marta's arm. "I did not realize there was a separate standard for casino and restaurant." Jack raised his voice slightly. "Let me get this straight. It is perfectly acceptable for _their_ "type" to spend their money on roulette, but not spend _my_ money to dine?"

"No no, Captain Sparrow. It is not that." The maitre'd hurried to reassure them.

Jack wrapped an arm around Marta's shoulders. "Then what is it, pray tell? Are you afraid of the local _habaneros_?" He laughed and slipped the man a $20 bill. "We are only here to dine, my dear Claudio. Not start a revolution!"

"Of course." Claudio pocketed the tip and bowing slightly, said with a smile, "Right this way, gentlemen. _Ladies_."

He led the way through the crowded room, resplendent with cream-and-blue satin lined walls, and crisp white linen-covered tables, where waiters came and went as swiftly as swallows. The clink of glasses and silverware tinkled beneath the swelling sound of the orchestra, playing a soothing wave of _rumba_ and _son_.

"May I suggest the _paella de marisco_, paired with a chilled _Rías Baixas Albariño_," Claudio said, once they were seated, handing them each a menu. "And for dessert, a nice flan, and coffee."

"Excellent!" Jack said, signaling a waiter over to order another round of drinks.

Will waited until they were alone, then leaned towards Jack. "Would you mind telling me what is going on?" he hissed, impatiently.

"Nothing," Jack said, brightly. "Nothing at all. We are simply enjoying a meal and a show, at our gracious host's expense."

"What was that all about, with the maitre'd, then?"

"Oh! That." Jack waved Will's concerns away with a flutter. "A simple mistake, that is all."

"He did not want to serve us," Marta said. "The locals are not welcome unless they are scrubbing the floors or the toilets." She laughed, bitterly. "Your one night at the _Nacional_ costs more than what your room's maid makes in three months, working twelve hours a day, six days a week. And hers is one of the highest-paid jobs a woman can get in Havana. Unless she sells herself."

Will glanced over at Mercedes, her eyes wide with excitement at being in such a fancy place. He recalled the smoky, crowded bar where she'd taught him to rumba, and offered him more, if he desired. Jack had told him about her afterwards, how she came from a poor farm family, how her parents, in order to feed the other children, had sent her to the city to earn a living, knowing in their hearts what type of living it would be. How she hoped to earn enough to save for a trousseau, so she might be married one day.

Jack had given her a month's wages that night, for the pleasure of watching Will dance. A gesture typical of Jack, who understood that pride was the one thing the Cuban people had left, despite their struggles. Pride, and the relentless will to survive.

"Cubans love Havana," Marta was telling Jack. "And Havana gives it back. It is noble and beautiful and has the heart, and soul and indomitable spirit of a great city. But Havana has once again been hijacked," she added bitterly. "It has become a city where luxury and fun is reserved for the rich and the foreigners. We have become a nation of servants who sing and dance at table for them."

"But is revolution the answer?" Jack asked. "Cuba has a long history of going from one bad leader to another."

"Perhaps this time will be different. _No hay mal que dure cien años ni cuerpo que lo resista_."

"What is that?" Will asked, curious.

"An old Cuban proverb." Marta smiled sadly. "No evil lasts a hundred years, for no one exists who could live through it."

Will, who had just taken a sip of his drink, began to cough violently. Jack hid his own bafflement in a swift attempt to save his friend from choking, giving them both sufficient time to think of a reply. Finally, Will emerged from his ordeal and managed to breathlessly ask, "But what about your children?"

Jack nodded, as he continued to rub Will's back in a soothing fashion. "Aye. They are the ones left to deal with the consequences."

****

The conversation was cut short as their dinner arrived with a flourish. There were two waiters to serve them, as the freshly cooked paella was not merely set on the table, but first displayed for the diners to 'ooh' and 'ahh' and applaud its beauty. Classically presented, large prawns, heads and tails intact, were arranged in a spoke pattern on the top with their feelers carefully extended to meet in the center of the dish, along with an array of mussels, scallops and crab claws. Completing the design were several baby octopi in the center of the pan. Carefully cut pieces of roasted and peeled red pimento and lemon wedges were arranged artistically to complete the presentation.

As the first waiter set the pan of paella in the center of the table, the other presented the bottle of wine to Jack for approval. As if on cue, as the final glass of wine was poured, the lights dimmed and the orchestra swelled to announce the start of the evening's show. The headliner was a famous _bolero_ singer, who balanced out the romantic ballads with a series of _guarachas_, _rumbas_, _sones_ and other high energy numbers.

Marta waved a hand at the singer and said in a disapproving voice, "The hypocrisy of this place! They allow a black man to entertain the rich, white tourists, yet won't let him drink in their bars or sleep in their beds. Even the famous Nat King Cole could not get a room at the _Nacional_, when he was here last year."

She glared at the table next to theirs, where an American couple was sitting, a typical mid-Western couple from Kansas City or Chicago or Cleveland, looking for some fun in the sun and a taste of the exotic, something to talk about for months to come – until they could save up enough money and vacation time to return to Havana.

"All these white American tourists don't just bring their dollars to Cuba, but their bigotry as well," Marta said, sitting back with a flounce, the rum drinks loosening her tongue considerably. "The _Plaza Hotel_, it is advertising for 'two white waiters speaking English.' The _Hotel Presidente_ asks for 'two white waiters and room boys.' Look around you! This, the _Hotel Nacional de Cuba_, owned by the Cuban government, yet who does it cater to? Who is allowed to dine here? To gamble here? Not your local habaneros, no. He must go elsewhere, he might be too black for the very important American tourists."

"Marta, please?" Mercedes asked plaintively. "We are here for fun. You should be happy, look at this!" She gestured to the steaming pan of paella, sitting neglected in the middle of the table.

"We could feed a village on what that cost," Marta said with a dismissive snort.

"Let's dance," Jack said abruptly, much too cheerfully to be nothing but a veiled threat, pulling Marta towards the dance floor. Once they were there he pulled her close and said in a sharp whisper, "You are not helping us, or Flavio, or "the cause" by calling attention to yourself. Now, do yourself a favour, and try to pretend you are here to have fun, and not to start a revolution, savvy?"

Marta glared at him. "I cannot help but feel passionate for my people, for my country. You would rather I pretend that nothing is the matter?"

Jack tightened his hold, just to discreetly underline the meaning of his words, and snarled, eyes narrowed, "Yes, dearie, I _would_ rather you pretend you are a lady, and I know this is difficult for you, but, please, do _me_ a favour; at least try and act like one."

"Why you…" Marta did not manage to sputter out her response, as it was drowned out by the orchestra who launched into a rousing cha cha cha. They were soon joined on the dance floor by other couples, including Will and Mercedes.

"You like the dance?" Mercedes asked Jack, laughing as they soon were swept into a conga line that snaked around the dance floor.

Jack, who was grinning like a fool, the threat that Marta posed forgotten the second he spotted Will attempting his first conga, and was captured by the sight, barely stifling his own laughter as Will seriously counted out the steps and kicked.

"Haven't had this much fun in years," he told her, truthfully.

****

"Have you heard the tale of Davy Jones? A man of the sea, a great sailor."

Jack was entertaining the women, who had finally settled down to eat the delicious paella. He picked up one of the baby octopi with two fingers and waggled it under his chin.

Mercedes giggled, Marta frowned. "What does this have to do with anything?"

Jack sighed, and popped the morsel into his mouth. "Not much," he mumbled, shifting the food into his cheek and leaning forth with a dare colouring his eyes. "Unless you insist on talking about the consequences of actions." Jack gave a quick look at Will, who was poking the octopus around his plate while frowning at it in an attempt to stop himself from grinning at Jack's antics, and trying to concentrate on the table-talk.

Jack returned his gaze to Marta, who, for the first time since meeting Jack, found herself in trepidation of the eyes which seemed to see through anything…or anyone. She nearly jumped when Jack spoke again, "You need to be careful you do not rip out the heart of your country along with its leader."

"Batista does not care for Cuba. He exploits the country and its people for his own gain," Marta stood her ground, albeit in a more quiet voice.

"Sometimes a known evil is preferable to an unknown." Jack pointed out, once again playing with his food. "Evil wears many masks, including beards…or tentacles."

"_Los barbudos _seek justice for the Cuban people." Marta insisted, only slightly fettered by the look Jack, and now, also Will, gave her.

"I have no doubt they do," Jack said, seriously, suddenly sounding exhausted. "But history has an ugly way of repeating itself. One can only hope that your liberators do not soon become your oppressors.

****

A/N: **_Dos Gardenias_

This classic _bolero_ is the pianist and arranger Isolina Carrilo's best known composition. Born in 1907 she wrote the song in the 1930's and it has since become an essential part of every bolero singer's repertoire.

The great Cuban singer and bandleader, Antonio Macháo, scored a huge success with the song in Spain in the 1940's. Macháo died in Seville in 1995 and Compay Segundo played the song at his funeral before sprinkling rum on his resting place as a tribute. The _Buena Vista Social Club_ recording features an intimate performance from Ibrahim Ferrer.


	16. No Peace in Paradise

**Havana Revisited – Part 11 – No Peace in Paradise**

****

"Does he have to keep doing that?"

The blonde American woman asked the waiter, looking down her nose at the adjoining table. "Our travel agent assured us this was the finest hotel in Havana, and yet we find ourselves seated next to these horrible people. I cannot believe your establishment allows that sort to dine here. I demand you remove them, or I will go to the Tourist Counsel and lodge a complaint!" Her voice rose to a shrill pitch, catching the attention of the other diners around her.

The object of the woman's scorn and obvious disgust was at the moment deeply engrossed in telling a tale to his captivated audience.

"And there they were, Davy Jones, Captain of the _Flying Dutchman_, fighting on the yardarm against the infamous pirate, Captain Sparrow."

"Captain Sparrow? Any relation?" Marta asked, raising a skeptical but elegantly shaped eyebrow.

"I'm told I'm a spitting image of him," Jack said, with a wink for Will. "So there they were, meeting blow for blow, their swords clashing as the raging maelstrom swirled beneath them," he continued, with a flourish.

Jack had skewered one of the baby octopi on the tip of his knife and it was dancing across the rim of the paella pan, a plastic cocktail sword in hand, battling against an olive-headed fork opponent in a furious fight to the death.

"Meanwhile," Will added in an ominous voice, getting into the spirit of the moment, "the cursed crew of the _Dutchman_ were fighting the other pirates in hand to…fin combat." He danced a prawn menacingly towards Mercedes, who shrieked and giggled at the antics.

The couple at the next table watched with open contempt. "They are nothing but barbarians," the man growled.

His wife gasped in horror as she watched Jack deal the death blow, decapitating the octopus head with a swipe of the cocktail sword, sending the diminutive cephalopod flying through the air to land neatly in her martini with a splash.

"Oh! Oh!!" She leapt up, hurrying to wipe the drink off her gown, her husband clumsily trying to help.

The waiter rushed to assist, signaling for a busboy to fetch the maitre'd.

"Sorry!" Jack called to the woman, flashing a golden grin her way.

"This is an outrage!" The woman's face turned red as she sputtered. "I have never seen such, such… such grievous behavior in my life!"

The maitre'd quickly reassured the American couple they'd be duly compensated, with their dinner and drinks on the house. Handing them a handful of casino chips, he apologized profusely and quickly escorted them to another table. Then, with thunder in his eyes he stalked back across the dining room.

"Captain Sparrow, I am going to have to ask you and your guests to leave the premises at once."

Jack waved a hand towards the crowded room and said cordially, "No worries, my dear Claudio. We were just going." He rose and pulled out the chair for Marta. "My friends have promised to show us around your lovely city." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a $50 bill, reached for Claudio's hand and shook it, clasping his own hands around the monetary apology with a wink, "Perhaps this will make up for the earful you're bound to hear."

Claudio kept his stern face but gave Jack a wink in return. "I am sure the management will see to it that the Americans are amply compensated for any inconveniences."

Will helped Mercedes with her wrap and the four of them made their way towards the door, their path taking them past the table where the disgruntled tourists had been relocated. As they passed Jack leaned over with a light touch on the woman's shoulder, and whispered loudly,.

"It's pronounced _egregious_."

****

"So what do we do now?" Will asked Jack, once they reached the lobby of the hotel.

Jack nodded his head towards the reception desk. "Find a new hotel, for starters." He chuckled and added, obviously indulging in a shared memory, "I wager we have once again overstayed our welcome."

Marta sniffed, seeming like she felt they should have never chosen such a bourgeois establishment in the first place.

"Does this happen often?" Mercedes asked innocently.

"Jack has a tendency to see rules as mostly guidelines." Will gave her a ghost of a smile. "And a low tolerance for them being arbitrarily enforced," his smile adapting a whole different feel when he turned to see Jack strolling back with his arms spread wide and his head tilted as if to wonder, 'What can I do?' with glee.

Jack, returning from settling the bill, overheard this last statement and laughed. "Rules, written by the privileged to keep the undesirables from getting too close to the privileged, while the privileged give not a thought to the fact that it is the undesirables who give them the privilege of being the privileged to begin with."

"Exactly! The rich oppressing the poor," Marta said vehemently, no longer able to contain her revolutionary fervor. "Imperialist pigs. That is who stays here."

"And you're convinced that everyone who stays at this hotel is an imperialist pig." Clearly put off by the sudden outburst, Jack withdrew his arm he'd intended to offer to his date.

"They're all corrupt, these people." Marta said, waving an arm around the crowded lobby. "All these fucking Americans. Absolutely corrupt. They are the ones who keep Batista in power and make him rich while he fucks the country and keeps everyone poor." She crossed her arms and added, "They'll be the first to go come the revolution."

Exchanging baffled looks with Jack, Will attempted to calm the strident woman down.

"Jack and I did not come here to oppress anyone. And I am sure these other people didn't either," he said, trying to keep the exasperation out of his voice. "A simple vacation is all we had in mind."

"Simple?" She raised her voice, causing more than a few heads to turn their way. "You come here for what? To gamble? To spend your filthy Yankee dollars on sex shows? You are no better than the others."

Jack gritted his teeth, and grasping her elbow, steered the irate woman towards the front doors with a clear warning in his sharp whisper. "We are going to leave now, _quietly_. Or would you rather have us all arrested for disturbing the peace?"

Once outside, Jack flagged down a taxi, and unceremoniously deposited Marta in the back seat. Leaning to the driver's window, Jack held out a handful of dollars and instructed him in a low growl, "Take these women wherever it is they are going."

"Cowardly bourgeois pig!" Marta spat.

Jack bowed with a flourish. "I wish I could say it has been a pleasure."

Mercedes turned troubled eyes from her friend to the men. "Thank you, Captain Sparrow, Captain Turner." She smiled sadly , "I had a wonderful time." Glancing down shyly, Mercedes then looked back up and added in a cheered tone, "I hope the pirates won."

This as their departing words, Will and Jack watched as the cab pulled away from the curb and headed down the drive. Signaling for another, Jack suddenly looked weary, the weight of the ages upon his shoulders when he sought to brush his hand on Will's consolingly. "Did they?"

Havana was no longer a peaceful paradise.

****

_Fuck this shit._

Jack tapped on the taxi driver's shoulder and said curtly, "We've changed plans. Take us to Cojimar."

"But Señor," the cabbie said, "it is many miles away."

"This should get us there ." Jack stuffed several large bills into the startled man's breast pocket, his patience running thin. "That should cover any fares you might miss tonight."

"Sí, Señor," the driver beamed, putting the car in gear and merging into the night's traffic. "A lovely night for a seaside drive."

Settling back in the seat, Jack surreptitiously intertwined his fingers in Will's and wearily closed his eyes, resting his head on the back of the seat. Squeezing Will's hand gently, he murmured, "I promise to make it up to you."

Will ran his thumb along the back of Jack's hand in lazy circles. "I have seen worse. I only hope you are not thinking I…"

Shaking his head with a warning look, Jack changed the subject. "I hope the fishing is as good as they say in the tourist books," he said loudly, nodding casually towards the cab driver, who seemed inordinately interested in their conversation. Sliding his hand unobtrusively from Will's, Jack fished a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and lit it with flourish.

"Lovely, isn't it?"

Jack gestured to the view as the sped along the Malecón. Up ahead, the dark outline of the Morro fortress overlooked the moonlit bay, the lantern of the lighthouse setting a languid rhythm as it glowed and dimmed and glowed again.

Will nodded, the sight of the peaceful water helping to soothe his troubled mind. The two men settled into an easy silence, their fingers again, as if on their own accord, finding each others' in the darkened cab, the simple contact grounding them both.

Jack stared out the window without seeing. How did it come to all this? A simple holiday, that was all he'd hoped for, time to spend with Will, a respite, away from all the death and despair that came with his duties as the Ferryman. A chance to reacquaint with one another, to be in peace, blessed peace, without the worries of the worlds, and what was left of the worlds that still plagued them, was to be talked and talked about, and finally, put to rest.

They would leave Havana. Put this town to their rudder, set sail for Key West on the morning tide. Away from the craziness that had come over Cuba, far away from the inevitable bloodshed that would surely erupt, as it always did. They'd seen enough of that, enough conflict in their many years, quite enough to last them several lifetimes.

Perhaps they'd visit again one day, when life had returned to normal on the innocent island. But for now, Havana had lost its charm. Robbed of it by power – hungry hands greedily scraping at every inch of the bottom, and throwing what they found carelessly aside, since nothing would ever be enough.

Sighing, Jack leaned back and gave Will's hand a squeeze, the rejoining caress banishing Jack's anxiety, and carrying his mind into marveling once again at how just the slightest touch of those fingers could erase and smooth out all his worries, ease all the burdens of daily life, distilling all time into one moment, one touch, one heart.

One soul.


	17. Full Circle

Full Circle

"It's Mercedes."

Will was referring to the retro travel poster he'd purchased at the book store that morning which now added a splash of color to the previously blank wall in their apartment.

Jack squinted one eye and cocked his head. "Yes, I can see the resemblance. Quite remarkable."

The smiling girl on the poster posed under bright blue skies and tropical palms, a lovely attractive lure for the snowbound tourists who used to flock to her island.

_CUBA - Paradise of the Tropics_.

Will ran a smoothing hand softly across the image. "I prefer to remember her, and Havana, this way. Before…"

Wrapping an arm around Will's waist, Jack gave an acknowledging squeeze. "Before it all went to hell."

They hadn't known the fate of the two women after they'd left them that night in Havana. After haggling bureaucratic red tape for near a week, Jack and Will had finally been given clearance to sail on the _Flying Pearl_, leaving behind the motor launch with strict instructions to Miguel to turn it over to Flavio when he returned to Cojimar.

As predicted, the island had exploded in a revolutionary fire not long afterwards, closing the ports and isolating the people. Many fled before, during, and immediately after Fidel Castro took power, but it wasn't until the new regime began to show the same ugly side as the old that the others fled – on boats, inner tubes, rafts, anything that would float.

They were called _Balseros_, or Rafters.

Freedom lay but a short distance away, across the Florida Straits, a seven hour ferry ride to Key West. But for many, that 90 mile stretch of water would be their final destination.

It was during one stormy night, when the _Flying Dutchman_ had surfaced to collect those that had perished, that Will had come face to face with someone from his past. Clinging to the hull of the overturned launch, so grossly overcrowded it had capsized in the storm, Flavio had been shocked to see the Captain of the _Dutchman_.

"Captain Turner!" The man's face went white as he glanced fearfully around at the ship. "Where am I?"

Will squatted down next to him and explained calmly. "You are on board the _Flying_ _Dutchman_. I will see that you pass safely to the other side."

"Then I am dead?"

"Yes, we have found no survivors."

Flavio buried his face in his hands. "It was all my fault. I couldn't say no. Pedro, he wanted to send his young daughters to America. Maria, she begged to bring her grandmother, and her cousins. Javier, he bought a fare for one and showed up with twelve others, all relatives he said. They all begged, most didn't even have the fare, I couldn't leave them behind. The launch, it sat so low in the water, the waves began to come over the sides. And then, the storm hit. And now they are all dead." He began to weep.

"You were trying to help."

Flavio looked up at Will, shock and dismay in his eyes. "I was wrong, Captain Turner, wrong about everything. I thought we would free Cuba from tyranny and instead, we opened the door to something even worse. I saw, with my own eyes, the destruction of my homeland, families torn apart, death, killings, many more that Batista ever carried out. And I vowed I would try, on my mother's grave, my father's name, that I would do anything I could to help the people who were suffering. And yet, still I have failed. I failed Marta, and Mercedes. And I have failed these people as well."

"These people knew the risks, they chose to take them."

"Yes, they were desperate. And desperate people do desperate things. I should have told them no, left some behind, not overloaded the boat."

Will knew from experience that the newly deceased had to come to terms with their own death, each in their own time. He left Flavio to grieve privately and moved on to the remaining casualties, a calming presence amidst the chaotic night. Something nagged at the back of his mind, but Will managed to set it aside until later that evening, when he returned to his cabin to fill out the log.

As he added Flavio's name to the record, he remember what was bothering him. Flavio had said he had failed Marta, and Mercedes. Names Will remember from long ago, names that brought back memories of a summer of heat and passion and revolution.

Returning on deck, Will sought out Flavio, who had settled down in the bow and was watching the waves with a pensive stare. At first Flavio hadn't wanted to talk about it, so Will had joined him in silent vigil, waiting patiently for the story to come. When Flavio did begin to speak he spoke so softly that Will had to strain to hear the words.

The story was a familiar one, and yet more chilling in its brutality as the victims were both known to him. The women had been picked up shortly after they left the _Hotel Nacional_. Taken to police headquarters they had been "questioned" for several hours on their knowledge of the insurgents' movements and plans. Both had been tortured, and most likely raped. Marta did not survive the night, though she stayed true to the cause and did not reveal any information. They found her battered and bloodied body dumped in a vacant lot the next morning.

Mercedes, sweet innocent Mercedes, had been brutalized in the worse way. Her lovely face cut beyond recognition. Realizing she did not have any information, they had finally released her, barely breathing. Taken to a safe house, she had spent several months recovering, and from the ashes a true revolutionary had been born. She had fled to the mountains and joined the bearded ones as camp nurse, trading her fine gowns for army fatigues. In time, she became proud of who she had become and no longer hid behind bandannas and scarves, her many scars, seen as proof positive of the evil that needed to be overthrown.

It was even rumored that Fidel had taken a special interest in her, and made her his mistress.

Poor Mercedes. Once the Revolution had reached Havana, she had been shuffled aside as her scars rendered her less than desirable in the public eye. She had been assigned to the prison, to aide in interrogations; it was said one look at her face would make even the most hardened cringe in fear. But the years of intimidation, torture, death, took their toll, and Mercedes had finally ended her torment with a plunge off El Morro's watch tower.

Flavio, having spent the greater portion of his adult life fighting for the welfare of others, chose to stay aboard the _Dutchman_ and aide those unfortunate souls lost at sea. He was to meet many more of his countrymen in the years ahead, as the steady stream of _Balseros_ made their bids for freedom.

"To Mercedes," Jack raised a solemn toast.

Will clinked his glass softly with Jack's. "May she be at peace."

The two men drank in silence. So many wars, so many revolutions, so many senseless deaths, lives ruined. Eternity stretched before them and history repeated itself, like a broken record. But life was to be embraced, not despaired.

After a moment of silent respect, Jack went over and flipped through the old album collection he insisted on carrying wherever he went. Finding the one he wanted, he carefully placed it on the turntable and lowered the needle. The scratchy tune brought back sultry nights and smoky nightclubs. Turning to Will, Jack bowed and asked, "Shall we dance?"

And so they danced. Swaying to the rumba beat, eyes closed, once more in Havana, 1957.

You could almost smell the cigars.

_Finis._


End file.
